I'm HALPING!
by ack1308
Summary: When a stranger comes to Brockton Bay with the intention of HALPING, things are going to get interesting ...
1. Chapter 1

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

 _Disclaimers:_

 _1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it._

 _2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations._

 _3) I will accept any legitimate criticism of my work. However, I reserve the right to ignore anyone who says "That's wrong" without showing how it is wrong, and suggesting how it can be made right. Posting negative reviews from an anonymous account is a good way to have said reviews deleted._

* * *

Part One: Introduction

* * *

 **Thursday Night, December 23, 2010**

* * *

The bus from Chicago pulled into the Brockton Bay depot and stopped with a hiss of air brakes. With a sigh of relief, the driver set the handbrake, killed the engine, then pulled the lever to open the doors. He was already thinking of the soft sheets that he'd be sleeping on that night as he opened his log book and began to fill out the row of figures.

Beside him, the passengers filed out of the bus, most of them just as pleased as he was that the endless journey was over at last. Long-haul from the Windy City to the 'Bay was no joke at the best of times, though he wasn't entirely sure why anyone would be coming _to_ the city. Busy scribbling down odometer figures in handwriting only degrees more legible than a doctor's scrawl, he entirely failed to notice the slight distortion in space behind the last passenger, a tired woman with three cranky children.

Preoccupied with her own brood, the woman assumed that the teenage boy who appeared behind her had been slouched down in a seat and had just now gotten up. Politely, he waited for her to herd her offspring off the bus, then stepped down to the stained pavement himself. As he looked around, he felt wonder at what he saw and heard and felt, but he did not know how to express it.

Before anyone could query his presence, and the fact that he was unaccompanied by an adult, he walked off into the night.

* * *

The acne-scarred convenience store attendant rang up the sale. "That'll be forty-two dollars and seventy-three cents, please."

Naomi Hess rummaged through her purse and found two twenties. Further down, she located three dollar coins, which she placed on the counter with the twenties. The attendant took the money and counted out twenty-seven cents change, which she dropped into the purse. _Prices go up every year._

"Thank you," she said to him. "Are you working over Christmas?"

"Gotta," he replied with a shrug. "Need the money."

He had a point, she had to admit. Keeping her two younger children fed and clothed was a constant trial, even though Sophia seemed to be able to pay her own way more and more these days. She carefully avoided thinking about how that might be the case; it was just good that Terry had his own job these days.

"Well, be safe," she told him. It wasn't the best of neighbourhoods; this late at night, her regular store had been closed, and she'd had to drive across a couple of neighbourhoods to find a place to pick up spare diapers as well as some other essentials. _I swear, Sophia didn't use half as many._

"You too," he mumbled, already going back to whatever magazine he was reading in between sales. Laden down by her purchases, she hooked the door handle with one finger and pulled it open.

It was a good fifty yards down the block to where she'd parked her car. Her feet were already sore; the walk back to the car with the groceries would only serve to add another layer of discomfort to that. She visualised getting home, getting her shoes off, soaking her feet …

"Well, what the fuck do we have here?"

It was the tone behind the words, as opposed to the content, that made her heart sink. A covert glance over her shoulder confirmed her worst fears; three tattooed skinheads, flaunting the colours of the Empire, were rapidly catching up with her from behind. She tried to increase her pace as they swapped comments back and forth, but it was no use. Even if she dropped the bags and ran, she knew that they would catch her with relative ease.

Slowing her pace again, she hunched her shoulders, dropping her gaze to the ground. _Maybe they'll just throw a few comments around and get bored and wander off._ It was a slim hope, but it was all she had. There was a pepper spray tube in her purse, but to try to use it on three determined opponents would be a bad idea. She would almost certainly miss one, and that would get her stabbed or worse.

In moments, they were surrounding her on three sides.

"Hey, bitch, where you going with that shit?" That was the opening ploy. If she didn't answer, she was ignoring them. That would give them an excuse to escalate.

"Home," she mumbled. It was probably better to say something than nothing.

"What's this shit you're carrying? You steal that shit, bitch?"

"Yeah, nigger bitch probably stole it." She felt a tugging on one of the bags, and hung on to it.

That was when one of them shoved her; she staggered. "Let go, bitch. I wanna see what you stole!"

"I didn't steal it." She knew it was a mistake to speak up, but the words came out anyway. "I bought it."

"Bought it, huh?" Another shove. This time, she barely kept her feet. "Probably stole the money to buy that shit with."

"Just leave me alone," she pleaded. "I'm not hurting you."

A foot hooked between her ankles, tripping her; she fell heavily. One of the bags came free of her hand, spilling groceries across the pavement. She tried to hold on to her handbag, but one of the skinheads plucked it off her shoulder. "Let's see how much money this bitch stole this week."

"Or whored for it," put in another one.

"Hey, that's a good point. You whore for this stuff?" She stayed silent, knowing that there was no answer that would satisfy. A kick caught her in the ribs, and she gasped, curling around herself. "Answer me, bitch! You whore for this?"

"'Course she did," said the one who had suggested it in the first place. "Still, she probably ripped 'em off. Maybe we should try out the goods, see if she's worth it."

 _No. No no no. Please, no._ Naomi had been mugged before – in a city like Brockton Bay, this was in no way an uncommon event – but they'd never gone this far before. She tried to struggle to her feet, but the kick caught her in the stomach this time, sending her on to her side, curled around a ball of pain. All the negative thoughts she'd ever had about her daughter going out and being a violent costumed vigilante were gone; there was nothing that she would have welcomed more than Sophia's costumed form swooping out of the night to deal with these thugs.

That didn't happen, but _something_ did. "What are you doing?"

It wasn't Sophia's voice. It wasn't anyone she knew. The speaker sounded masculine, though young. There was no anger in the question, or even menace. The question sounded more curious than anything.

"The fuck?" That was one of her tormentors, the one who had raised the idea of rape. "Fuck off, cocksucker. None of your fucking business."

There was a pause, then the question was repeated in exactly the same tone. She turned her head, looked upward. The newcomer was white and seemed to be fifteen or sixteen, well-built for his apparent age, with reasonably good looks and artfully tousled black hair. He was wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans. She was momentarily distracted by the thought that he should be wearing a jacket; while the temperatures in Brockton Bay never fell below freezing, it _was_ a chilly night.

When he failed to get an answer, the boy took a step forward. "Why are you hurting her? She has not harmed you."

"Always gotta be someone," muttered one of the other skinheads. There was a click, which her mind interpreted as a switchblade opening. "Okay, motherfucker, give us all your money. And your phone. Right the fuck now."

"I do not have anything to give you," the boy replied guilelessly. "But even if I did, why would I do that?"

"Because I'm going to cut you if you don't." She saw the skinhead step closer to the boy, who hadn't even raised his hands to protect himself. _Run! Get away! They'll kill you!_ She wanted to shout all that and more, but she could barely breathe right now.

"No, you are not." The boy didn't sound defensive, or even scared. Nor did he sound angry or confrontational. His tone was just … factual. _The sky is blue. Water is wet. You are not going to cut me._

"Uh, hey … " This was one of the others. "He might be, you know, a cape or something."

"I am not a cape."

 _Oh no,_ groaned Naomi silently. _You could've gone with it, made them back off. But you had to say that._

The skinhead said just one thing. "Good."

Naomi saw him lunge forward, the blade in his hand glinting yellow in the glare of the street-light. There was a blur of motion followed by a dry _snap,_ and the skinhead screamed; Naomi couldn't quite see properly from her prone position, but it looked like the boy had the Empire thug's wrist turned back on itself somehow. He let the skinhead go as the other two began to move in.

Naomi had recovered a little from the kicks, and managed to sit up as the skinhead fell to his knees, cradling his wrist and whimpering slightly. She rummaged in her purse for a moment.

"Hey."

The skinhead looked around as she spoke. She let him have it in the eyes with the pepper spray; he screamed all over again, recoiling backward, trying to clutch at his face. For just a moment, she savoured the satisfaction, then painfully climbed to her feet. _Maybe I can get away now._

But it seemed that there was no need, not any more. Both of the other skinheads were down, one groaning a little. The boy was looking down at a slash in his T-shirt, though thankfully Naomi saw no blood beneath it.

"My god, are you all right?" she asked anyway. _He just beat up those three punks to save me._ "Thank you, thank you so much."

He looked up at her, his expression mild. "I am well. They only cut my shirt." His expression fell a little. "It is my only shirt."

"Oh, uh …" A moment later, she registered what he had just said. "What, you have no other shirts at all?"

"No."

"No other clothes?"

"No. This is what I have." He gestured to himself.

She frowned. He didn't look half-starved, and his clothes appeared relatively new. _I doubt he's living on the streets._ "If you don't mind me asking … why is this?"

"I do not mind. It is all I have."

"Nothing else?" She tried to work this out. "Did your folks kick you out? Have you run away from home? Where are you from, anyway?"

"I have not run away from home. I am not from anywhere."

It was like asking a brick wall for answers. "Um … listen, what's your name? Mine's Naomi."

He looked steadily back at her. "I do not know what my name is."

"Your family? Do you remember your family?"

"Yes," he replied. For a long moment, she thought that he was finished, then he said one more word. "Behemoth."

Naomi Hess had seen the cartoon effect, with a light-bulb going on over the character's head. She had always derided the notion, until right now. It was as if a thousand-watt bulb had been turned on, so brightly did the realisation illuminate everything.

It made so much sense. He didn't have anything, not because he had run away from home, but because he had lost his family. She'd heard of cases of traumatic amnesia before now. _Poor kid probably saw them killed in front of him, and he's blanking it all out. Blanking everything out, including his own name._ It wasn't the weirdest thing that she'd seen or heard in her life. It explained his simplistic way of speaking as well; he'd retreated to a more childlike mindset, to deal with the horror of what had happened.

"Shit," she muttered. "Uh, do you have any place to stay?"

"I have no place to stay."

For a moment, she couldn't believe that she was really considering this. Then she made up her mind; on the one side was gratitude toward the boy who had risked his life to save her. On the other was her natural caution It really was a no-brainer. _He saved me from … well, whatever those guys had planned for me. I owe him this much._

"Listen," she said gently. "You saved me from … well, you saved me. I can't thank you enough for that. Have you eaten today?"

"I have not eaten today."

"And you don't have anywhere to stay, either. Right." _I can't leave him to starve on the street. He doesn't have the grab-everything attitude that he'll need to survive._ "Okay, then." She took a deep breath. "If you want, you can sleep on my couch tonight. I'll make you dinner. I'm pretty sure my son's got some old clothes that'll fit you. In the morning, we'll try and find out who you really are, see if we can contact any family you have left."

He looked back at her for a long moment, making her wonder if he was going to refuse through stubborn pride, or maybe ignorance of what faced him. Then he nodded. "I would like that."

* * *

The taillights of the car had faded into the distance before Conrad stirred and sat up. He moved with difficulty, because his right arm was refusing to work correctly, but he managed it.

"Guys?" he asked.

A groan came from one direction, where Joe was trying not to claw his own eyes out with his left hand. The acrid tang of pepper spray still hung in the air; Conrad figured that one out pretty easily. _Well, he won't be good for much until he gets them cleared out._

Conrad looked toward Brent, and recoiled. The last of the three skinheads lay on his back, sightless eyes staring at the streetlight above. His chest was caved in like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it; there was a really serious concavity there. If Brent wasn't dead, then he was tougher than anyone Conrad knew.

Painfully, he staggered to his feet, trying to stop his right arm from swinging around too much. _Need to talk to someone about this,_ he decided. _That little fucker was a cape, all right. Nobody else coulda done that shit to us so easy._

Unsteadily, he stumbled off into the darkness.

* * *

As Naomi pulled into the driveway on Stonemast Avenue, the house looked subtly different. Or perhaps it was in her own perceptions. What had happened to her – what had _nearly_ happened to her – had changed her view of the world. She had known that Brockton Bay could be dangerous at night. Hell, it could be dangerous during the _day._ But this fact had been now driven home to her in no uncertain terms. The realisation had changed her, and would continue to do so. She wasn't so sure that the changes would be positive in nature.

On the drive back to the house, she had attempted to strike up a conversation with the boy, but she hadn't gotten far. He knew some things but not others, and he had no opinions whatsoever about, well, anything. The one positive statement she got from him came when she asked him straight-out why he had come to her aid.

"I am here to help," he had replied.

"I don't understand," she said. "What do you mean by that?"

"I am here to help," he repeated, in exactly the same tone.

"Oh," was all she could come back with. "Well, thank you again."

"You are welcome," he responded brightly.

Neither one spoke after that, until they got back to the house.

* * *

Terry looked up from the first-person shooter as he heard the car pull into the driveway. _Mom'll want help with the groceries._ He paused the game and got up off the couch. "Sophia!" he called. "Mom's home!"

"Not deaf!" she yelled back from her room. But there was no sound of her door opening or of her coming down the stairs. She obviously didn't feel like helping with the groceries, either.

 _Fine. Be that way. I'll do it all myself._

He knew that his mother would have trouble with the front door if her hands were full of groceries, so he strolled over to open it for her. His timing was spot-on; the door swung open just as she stepped up on to the porch. But she wasn't carrying any groceries. More to the point, there was a teenage kid behind her, just now hefting them out of the car.

"Mom?" he asked. "Who's that?" _If he's stealing them, I am so gonna chase him down and beat the crap outta him._

"He's going to be our guest for a day or so," she said. "I was attacked when I was coming out of the store. He stopped them." Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. "He's got amnesia. Endbringer attack."

Terry's eyes widened. "Shit, really? Are you all right? Who was it? Empire?"

"I'm fine, yes," she assured him. "And yes, it was some skinheads. But it's all good now."

He kind of doubted that last bit; she had new scrapes on her hands, and she was holding herself a little oddly, but she was walking and talking, so he let that be.

"Okay, sure, I'll just help him with the stuff. What's his name?"

She shrugged. "He couldn't tell me. He can't remember."

Terry blinked. "You're not kidding about the amnesia." He gave his mother a quick hug. "I'm glad you're all right."

Smiling, she hugged him back, then added a kiss on the cheek for good measure. "Me too, Terry."

* * *

The boy had the last of the grocery bags out of the car when a tall young man came out of the house and approached him. "Hi. The name's Terry Hess."

Placing one of the bags on the ground, the boy shook his hand. "Hello, Terry Hess."

Terry shook it with a firm grip. "Mom says you helped her out of a bad spot. I want to thank you for that."

The boy picked up the bag again. "I am here to help."

"Well, works for me." Terry Hess did something to the car door and closed it. "C'mon, I'll help you with the bags." The bags were no burden at all, but the boy allowed Terry to take one of them. If Terry wanted to help, then he could help.

Terry led the way into the house and began showing the boy where to put the groceries. Although the boy knew what a kitchen was, this was the first time that he had ever seen one. Naomi Hess came into the kitchen and smiled at both of them. "Oh, good," she said, and picked up the diapers from where Terry had left them on the bench. "I'll just go deal with this, then I'll start dinner."

"No, Mom," Terry told her. "You have a shower and lie down or something. I'll make dinner tonight."

"Are you sure?" she asked, doubt in her voice.

"Sure I'm sure," he said firmly. "I'm not as good a cook as you, but I'm not bad. Go shower."

"But I've got to -" she began, holding up the pack of diapers.

"Get Sophia to do it," he interrupted. "Pretty sure she's only up in her room texting to her high school friends anyway."

"Well, okay. You twisted my arm." But her tone did not indicate anger, and the boy knew that Terry had not touched her, much less twisted her arm. He assumed that she was saying one thing to mean another, and that both of them knew what she meant.

Smiling, she kissed her son on the cheek and left the kitchen.

* * *

The knock on Sophia's door startled her; it was followed by her mother's voice. "Sophia? Are you in there?"

With a grumpy huff, the teen Ward swung her legs off of her bed. Her text to Emma and Madison was unfinished, so she added an extra line. _Hold that thought. Mom here._

The text sent, she shut the phone down, then got up and opened the door. "What's the matter, Mom?"

Almost immediately, a pack of diapers was thrust into her hands. "Anna needs a change. Please deal with it. I need to shower."

Sophia grimaced. "Can't Terry do it?"

"Terry's cooking dinner. I'm making it your job tonight." Her mother's tone became plaintive. "No backchat, not tonight, Sophia. Please."

It took that clue for Sophia to notice things; mainly, the scrapes on her mother's knees and the palms of her hands, but also the way she was holding herself, as if her ribs were painful. Sophia knew that look; she'd been on that side of the equation more often than she really wanted to think about.

"Shit, Mom, are you all right?"

"A lot better than I might have been." A deep breath. "I got mugged. Empire thugs. They … they were going to get pretty violent. But someone stopped them."

Sophia clenched her fists, anger growing within her. "Empire? Those racist fucks. Next time I'm out that way -"

"No, no, I'm _fine,"_ Naomi insisted. "I just need to have a hot shower and lie down for a bit."

"Oh, okay." Sophia frowned. "Still gonna send them a message." A thought struck her. "Who was it who stopped them?"

"I don't know his name." Her mother's voice was matter-of-fact. "He's about your age, but I'm pretty sure he lost his family in an Endbringer attack, and the experience has affected him mentally. He certainly doesn't remember anything about where he's from, or his name, or anything like that. But he doesn't have anywhere to stay, so I offered him the couch for the night. Until we can contact Family Services, see if they can figure out who he really is."

Sophia stared. "Mom, are you _nuts?_ Inviting some – some _stranger_ into the house? Who knows _what_ he might do!"

"I know _exactly_ what he might do," Naomi retorted, a steely tone to her voice. "He might step between me and three Empire Eighty-Eight thugs and risk his life to save mine. Because that's what he _did_ do. _"_

"You already said he was affected mentally," Sophia protested. "What if it's the 'I want to wear your lungs as a necklace' type of mental effect?"

Naomi set her jaw. "I've invited him for dinner," she stated flatly. "If you get any sort of bad vibes off of him, anything at all, he's out after that. I'll see if there's a homeless shelter that'll take him in and I'll drive him there myself. But give him that chance, at least, all right?"

Sophia sighed in frustration. "Fine. He gets this one chance."

"Thank you." Her mother hugged her quickly. "I'm going to take that shower. Go take care of your sister?"

"Yeah, okay." Accepting the pack of diapers, Sophia watched her mother move down the corridor toward the bathroom. She turned her attention back to her phone. Powering it up again, she read the return comments. Her lips skinned back from her teeth as she read what they had to say. It was perfectly in line with her thoughts, especially when it came to what was due to happen to Hebert.

Regretfully, she typed back, _Cant stay & chat. Put in charge of sister. Guest for dinner._ Momentarily, she considered describing why the guest was there, but changed her mind when she realised that she hadn't even met the guy yet. _Talk later._ Folding the phone, she tucked it away and went to deal with her appointed chore. Once she was done with changing Anna, she'd go down and see about this guy Mom had brought home. _I swear, if he's a creeper, he is_ _ **so**_ _gone._

* * *

Terry chopped the ingredients of the casserole, dumping them into the pot as he finished with each lot. Their dinner guest watched with fascinated interest; it was as if he'd never seen someone preparing a meal before. Or maybe he just had a thing for cooking.

"So, Mom wasn't really forthcoming about what happened," Terry observed as he sliced strips of meat. "How bad was it, really?"

The kid didn't answer for a few seconds. "It would have been bad," he allowed. "There were three of them. They would have done bad things to her. I asked them why. They could not answer. Then they attacked me. One is dead. The other two are injured but alive."

The knife stopped moving, poised in midair, as Terry turned to face him. "You're saying you _killed_ one of these guys?"

"That is what I am saying, Terry Hess," the boy agreed.

"Wait, who killed what now?" asked Sophia, walking into the kitchen.

The boy turned to her before Terry could decide what to say. "I killed one of the three men who was going to do something bad to Naomi Hess," he explained. "I helped her."

Her eyes widened, but not in fear. Terry couldn't quite figure out what her expression meant. "No shit? How badly did you hurt the other two?" _Oh, wait._ It was excitement.

"I broke the wrist of one, and the arm of the other," the boy told her in a straightforward manner. "The third one had a gun, and may have hurt your mother. So I killed him."

"So how -" she began.

"Whoa, hold on," Terry protested. "Seriously, Sophia. Not a great topic of conversation. Let's just leave it at that, okay? He had to do something pretty bad to protect Mom, and I can understand why he did it, but can we not dwell on it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Terr, he did it to protect _Mom._ That automatically makes it a righteous kill."

"What?" He stared at her. "Soph, killing is _wrong_ , no matter who does it to whom. He was kind of justified in this case, because Mom, but still, it's never a good thing to do."

She shook her head. "You don't get it, do you? We live in _Brockton Bay._ We got a guy who can turn into a giant flaming rage dragon and toast you in your house, and we got a guy who can make steel blades shoot out of the floor and make you into a shish kebab – and just incidentally, neither of those people approve of our skin colour, and both of them lead powerful criminal gangs. The wonder isn't that we've got the murder rate we do. It's that it's not _higher."_

Stubbornly, he shook his head. "That doesn't make killing good, Soph. It's never right to take matters into your own hands. The courts exist for a reason. Becoming judge, jury and executioner is _illegal,_ and for many good reasons."

She stood her ground. "Tell that to every person who got saved from a gruesome death because some out of control cape got a kill order put on his head."

Terry grimaced. "That's a special case. They only do that for S-class threats."

"But they _do_ it," she insisted. "If you know someone's gonna try and kill you anyway, it's better to hit them first _before_ they can do it."

"But that's _murder."_ Terry shook his head. "It wouldn't even count as self-defence unless they were clearly threatening you."

"Seriously, bro," Sophia retorted. "With some of the capes out there, their idea of a warning shot is blowing up half a city block. You don't get 'prior warning'. You get _dead._ Pre-emptive self-defence. It's a thing."

"But it's _not,"_ Terry retorted, his voice heavy with frustration. "Not legally, anyway."

Their guest broke in. "Terry Hess, are you threatening Sophia?"

Terry realised that he was waving the knife around, pointing the blade at his sister. "Uh, sorry, no. Got carried away." He put the knife on the bench. "Sophia, I don't even know where you're getting all this from."

"Real life, bro," Sophia told him, then turned to the boy. "Come on, let's go into the living room and let Terry finish murdering dinner."

The boy looked at the cutting board. "That is already dead. He cannot murder it."

She rolled her eyes. "Figure of speech. Come on."

"All right, Sophia." They walked out of the kitchen side by side.

Terry watched them go, then took a deep breath. That didn't settle his agitation, so he took another one. When he was reasonably certain that he wouldn't be chopping off any fingers, he went back to cutting up ingredients for the casserole.

 _God, I hope she doesn't twist his head totally around with her thinking._

* * *

Sophia seated the boy on the couch, then sat beside him where she could keep an eye on Anna in her playpen. "So how'd you kill the one guy? You a cape?"

He looked earnestly at her. "I am not a cape, Sophia. I punched him in the chest and his heart stopped."

"Pretty sure that's a cape thing. Or late night martial-arts movies. Not something an ordinary kid can do, right?"

"I am not an ordinary kid. But I am not a cape either."

For all of her scepticism, she found herself believing him. He was so … open, so transparent. As far as she could tell, he didn't even think that what he did was wrong. Well, neither did she, but then, she knew how the world worked. _There's weak and then there's strong. I'm strong. And I'm pretty sure that this guy is too. Which reminds me. I can't just keep calling him 'this guy'._

"So you really can't remember your name?" she asked.

"I have no name."

"Huh. Well, we can't just keep calling you 'the guy with no name' so how would you like a name?"

"I would like a name very much, Sophia." He smiled at her. It really was a very charming smile, causing something to shiver deep inside her.

"Okay then," she said, doing her best not to stare into his vivid green eyes, "do you have a preference? What do you remember about your family anyway?"

He paused for a moment. "Naomi says that they were killed in an Endbringer attack."

"Yeah, she said." Sophia shook her head. "Okay, what kind of name would you like to have? Any ideas?"

For the first time, he seemed uncertain about what to say. "I do not know. Perhaps Ed Ringer?"

"No. Just no." She shook her head. "Way too many people would pick up on it and call you 'Endbringer'. You don't want that kind of reminder, trust me." She rubbed her chin. "How about … Zachary?"

He smiled widely, causing that little shiver again. _Hey, stop it. He's cute, but I'm not about to fall for him. I don't fall for guys. I got no time for that sort of thing._

"Zachary is a good name," he said. "I like it. My name is Zachary."

"Excellent." She leaned back on the couch, doing her best to relax. "So, Zach, tell me how you saved Mom. Don't leave anything out."

"All right, Sophia." He leaned back as well, emulating her posture. "She was lying on the ground. There were three of them. One was kicking her. I walked over and asked them what they were doing. They did not want to answer me, and one produced a knife. Another one said that I might be a cape. I said I was not. The one with the knife tried to stab me, and I broke his wrist, but he cut my shirt. The other two attacked me, and one had a pistol. I punched that one in the chest so that he would not hurt your mother with the pistol. The other one tried to hit me with a club, so I broke his arm and knocked him unconscious."

Sophia tried not to stare. Zachary's entire statement had been entirely without any trace of bravado or boastfulness. "Are you sure you're not some sort of cape?"

"I have told you twice now, Sophia. I am not a cape."

"Right, right." She wasn't quite sure why she believed him, but she did. "Not a cape, gotcha." Which meant that he was some kind of badass normal. This was especially impressive, given his apparent age. _I'm good, I'm really good, but if I didn't have my powers …_ She was honest enough to admit to herself that she wouldn't be anywhere near as impressive as he had just described.

This was starting to sound like the plot of a corny martial-arts movie. _Kid comes out of nowhere, check. Has no memory of his past, check. Kickass martial-arts moves, check. No super-powers, check._ "We are gonna _have_ to spar sometime," she murmured. Unbidden, an image of him on the sparring mat, shirtless, sprang fully-formed into her mind. A very _compelling_ image. Muscles and sweat were involved.

"I am sorry, Sophia," he said. "I did not hear that."

"Never mind." She forced the image away. _No. Seriously, no. Stop that,_ she silently ordered her libido.

Taking a deep breath, she continued in a deliberately normal tone. "So, you've heard my views on necessary killing. You killed that one guy. Why didn't you deal with the rest of them the same way?" _I would have,_ she didn't have to say. Normally, she didn't set out to kill common muggers, but in this case, she would have made an exception.

"I did not have to," he explained. "Only one of them had the potential to harm her, so I ended the threat. The others were no threat at all."

"Oh." It made sense. "But if they had posed more of a threat to her …"

His tone never changed. "I would have acted to end it." She had absolutely no doubt that he meant every word.

 _Damn. This guy's not just a predator. He's an apex predator. Just like me._ "So you've got no problem with killing, when it's needed?"

"It is as you said, Sophia. Sometimes killing is necessary. Sometimes life requires death."

She had never heard it expressed precisely like that, but his words resonated with her. _I wonder if …_

The thought was not completed, as Terry came through into the living room, wiping his hands with a towel. "Dinner should be ready in half an hour or so," he announced. He looked at Zach. "So what have the two of you been talking about?"

Zach looked over at Sophia's brother. "Sophia has given me my name. I am Zachary."

Terry covered his eyes with his hand. "Soph, _really?_ You know he's already got a name. We've just gotta find out what it is."

"I like the name Zachary," protested the boy. "It is a good name."

"Yes, but you'll have another name, somewhere in the system," Terry tried to explain. "When we find out who you really are, we'll find that out as well."

"So he changes his name." It was obvious to Sophia. "What's the big deal?"

"But he already _has_ a name," Terry reiterated. "Giving him another name will just confuse him when he gets told his real one, or he gets his memory back."

"Well, it's not like we can call him 'hey you', is it?" Sophia snapped.

Terry grimaced. "I _guess_. But it's not like he's gonna be staying with us for long, right?"

Zach's head dropped at that. Sophia reached out and punched her brother on the shoulder. _"Now_ look what you've done. You've hurt his feelings."

"Since when have _you_ ever worried about anyone's feelings?" scoffed Terry.

"Hey, I can worry about someone's feelings." She couldn't miss the scepticism on his face. "I _can!_ Anyway, look at him. He needs someone to talk to him. To connect to him. Think he'll get that with Family Services?"

"Wait." He looked at her suspiciously. "Are you saying he should stay with _us?"_

While she hadn't thought quite that far ahead, but he had a point. "Well, why not? He saved Mom's life."

"By _killing_ someone, Soph," he pointed out.

"Well, are _you_ gonna call the cops on him?"

They both looked at Zach then. He looked back at them. Terry shook his head. "Nah. Even if he didn't get charged with murder, it'd still be on his permanent record. He doesn't deserve that, not for saving Mom."

She nodded. "Anyway, it's Christmas. Everyone should have people around them at Christmas."

Again, he gave her an odd look. "Soph, seriously? Who turned on your 'nice' setting?"

"I can be nice." Even in her ears, that fell flatter than the first one. With a half-shrug, she conceded the point. "Okay, _fine_. He's a good guy, and he saved Mom's life, so I'm just saying we should maybe cut him a break."

"I'm not saying no, but we're gonna have to run it past Mom," Terry noted. "And ixnay on the illing-kay thing, too. Just saying."

"I do not understand those words, Terry Hess," Zach said. "What do they mean?"

"What do what words mean?"

They all looked around; Naomi had just come down the stairs wearing a dressing gown. She looked a little more refreshed, a little less worn. Light plasters covered where she had skinned her hands.

"Mom!" Terry spoke first. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She smiled at him. "Dinner smells nice, dear. What words were you using that confused him?"

Zach stood up from the sofa. "Hello, Naomi Hess. The words were 'ixnay' and -"

"We were just teaching him pig latin, Mom," Sophia rushed to say. "See, Zach, you take the first letter of the word and put it at the back of the word, then add 'ay' as a sound. So for 'nix', which means 'no', you say 'ixnay'."

"Oh." Zach tilted his head. "I see. And this is a language?"

"Wow." Terry frowned. "You don't even know pig latin. I thought every kid knew it."

"Well, I know it now, Erry-tay Ess-hay," Zach said with a smile. "Is that how it is done?"

"That's how it's done," Mom agreed. "You three seem to be getting along all right."

"Yeah, he's pretty cool," Terry said. "Uh, Sophia and me were thinking that if Family Services can't find his folks straight away, he might be able to stay here for a bit? At least until they can get in touch with whoever's been taking care of him?"

Sophia tried not to stare at Terry. She'd been ready to open the subject herself, but hadn't thought that he was totally on board with the idea. But here he was, broaching it as plain as day. _Well, crap. Now I'm gonna have to find another reason to dump on him._

"Sophia?" Mom was looking at her quizzically. "Are you really in agreement with Terry on this?"

"Um, yes?" Sophia glanced at Zach, and her resolve firmed up. _Don't be too eager about it_. "I mean, yeah, sure. He's tolerable, I guess. And I wouldn't want to kick him out on Christmas."

"Hmm." Mom looked at her then at Terry. Finally, she looked at Zach. "And what do you think about this?"

"I think it is good, Naomi Hess," Zach replied. "If you let me stay, then I will be happy to stay."

"Well, I'll think about it." Mom raised a finger as both her children began to speak at once. "I _said_ , I'd think about it. That's not a yes, but it's not a no, either. It's not so important that I can't have twenty-four hours to decide. All right?"

Terry nodded first, the big suck-up. "No problems, Mom."

"Yeah," added Sophia. "That's fine."

"Sophia gave me my name," Zach announced.

Both of Mom's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Sophia couldn't think of a way to defuse what was coming. Terry gave her an amused glance as Zach went on. "Yes. My name is Zachary."

"Is it, now?" There was a glint of amusement in Mom's eye as she looked at all three of them. "You do realise, Sophia, that just because you named him doesn't mean you can keep him."

"Mo-om," Sophia gritted out. "He's not a _dog."_

"That's true," Mom agreed. "And as I recall, there was a Zachary Hebron who you had the biggest crush on when you were in fifth grade. Is there any connection?"

"Buss-tedd," murmured Terry. Sophia wanted to jab him in the ribs, but Mom was still watching. She wondered if it was actually possible to die of embarrassment. _It's nobody's business whose name I gave him._

* * *

 **Friday, December 24, 2010**

* * *

Zachary liked his new name. He liked staying with the Hess family. He did not need to sleep, although he concealed this from them, because it would raise too many questions. So, on the first night, he lay down on the couch with the blanket over him and closed his eyes. He did not mind this. It was restful.

He had a primary function. It was something that he needed to do. But the push was not urgent. He still had a few days.

In the morning, he ate breakfast with the family. Eating was another thing that he did not need to do, but to not do so would also raise questions. He somehow knew that if he did not act too far out of the norm, people would not take notice, but if he exhibited strange abilities, then questions would be asked. So he pretended that he needed to eat and sleep. It made things easier.

After breakfast, Zach volunteered to wash the dishes. Terry had shown him how the night before, and he had found that he rather enjoyed it. It was good practice for fine manipulation that was not combat. He was a little surprised that Sophia offered to help him. From what he could see, she did not enjoy it in the same way that he did, and still she chose to do this. She certainly did not need the practice in fine manipulation. He did not understand her motivations, but he still did not understand why people did many things.

"So, Mom," Terry asked as they were doing this. "Have you checked with Family Services yet?"

"I rang their number," Naomi replied. Beside Zach, Sophia tensed a little. Zach heard Naomi raise her voice slightly. "You can relax, Sophia. I got an automated message telling me to call back on the twenty-sixth."

"Oh, okay." Sophia sounded relieved. Zach was not sure why. "Uh, Zach, I was going to get in some last-minute shopping at the mall today. Want to come with?"

"Oh god," groaned Terry. "Run, Zach. Run while you still can. Save your sanity."

"Why must I run, Terry?" asked Zach. "Shopping sounds interesting."

"Shopping _can_ be interesting, when you're shopping for man stuff," Terry said. "But shopping with teenage girls is soul-destroying. Trust me, I've been there."

"But Sophia is just one teenage girl," Zach replied.

"Uh, we might be meeting the guys there," Sophia told him. "If that's okay with you?"

"I do not know who 'the guys' are, Sophia," he reminded her.

"Uh, Emma and Madison," she said. "I've, uh, kinda told them about you."

"Oh. That sounds interesting. I would like to meet your friends." Zach meant it. Meeting new people was always interesting. Even if it did not bring him any closer to his primary goal.

"Excellent. You'll love them."

* * *

 **Hillside Mall Food Court**

* * *

Emma stared at Zach. The teen looked blandly back at her. "You're kidding, right?" she asked. _"This_ guy beat the crap out of three Empire punks?" From force of habit, she glanced around, but the food court was sufficiently noisy that her voice would not carry very far.

"She is not kidding, Emma," Zach replied for Sophia. "They were hurting Naomi Hess. I stopped them."

"Wow, holy crap," chimed in Madison. "A regular white knight, huh, Sophia?"

"Kinda, yeah," admitted Sophia. "It coulda gone badly for Mom if he hadn't been there."

"So Zach, you seeing anyone?" asked Emma. He wasn't the eye candy that some guys were, but he was good-looking enough and if Sophia's story was to be believed, he could handle himself in a brawl. He was also polite and deferential to a fault, which she admired in a man, especially when it came to her.

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them, because Sophia turned to look at her. Her friend's eyes slitted ever so slightly, leaving Emma with no illusions as to where she'd gone wrong. "Uh … or not," she amended hastily. "Just curious, is all."

"I am seeing many people, Emma," Zach replied, causing Madison to choke on her slushie. "There are over fifty people in this food court alone. I can see them all."

Emma realised what he was saying, even as she patted Madison on the back. "No, I meant _seeing_ seeing. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend. Not that I'm interested," she added hastily.

"Sophia is a girl and my friend," Zach said. "Is that what you mean?"

She looked at his open, honest expression, and decided not to go there. "Uh, let's just drop the subject."

"Yes," Sophia muttered. "Let's."

"So anyway, I was wondering," Madison put in. "Zach, why do you never use contractions?"

Zach looked at her. "What are contractions, Madison?"

That caused Emma and Madison to both stare at him. "What, you don't know what _contractions_ are?" Emma blurted.

"I do not know what they are in that context, that I should be using them," Zach replied.

"Uh, when you run two words together," Madison told him. "Like they've, we've, I'm and so on."

"Oh." Zach paused for a moment. "I have heard you doing this. I did not know what you were doing." He ate a fry. "These taste very interesting."

"So why don't you?" pressed Madison.

"Why do I not do what, Madison?" he asked politely.

"Use contractions," Emma reminded him. "Why don't you use contractions?"

Zach looked at Sophia. "Should I use contractions, Sophia?"

Sophia seemed to be almost grinning as she shook her head. "You don't have to, Zach. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"Not using contractions makes me feel comfortable," Zach declared. "So I will not use them."

"You realise that it makes you sound like a robot or something," Madison pointed out. _"Are_ you a robot? Or an alien? Or an alien robot?"

"No, Madison," Zach replied politely. "I am neither a robot nor an alien."

"How about a cape?" Emma asked quickly, keeping her voice down.

Zach looked at her. "Naomi Hess asked me that question, as did Sophia. I am not a cape."

Emma was pretty sure that she could tell when someone was lying, or at least shading the truth. Growing up with a lawyer for a father, and then in her position as queen bee of her year at Winslow, she had plenty of practice. There was plenty of circumstantial evidence that undermined Zach's statement, but she found herself taking him at face value. He'd said that he wasn't a cape, so she believed him.

Sophia was glaring at her again. "What?" asked Emma. "It was a reasonable question."

"Swear to god," Sophia muttered. "Next person who asks Zach if he's a cape, I'm gonna punch their lights out."

"So, Zach," piped up Madison, her eyes alight with mischief. "Are you, uh -"

" _Don't say it,"_ growled Sophia.

"- going to be attending Winslow?" finished Madison, then poked out her tongue at Sophia.

"I do not know, Madison." Zach turned to Sophia. "Is Winslow a place where I can meet people?"

Sophia shot Madison a dirty look; Emma read it quite clearly as _I see what you did there._ "Yes, Zach, it's a place where you can meet people."

"That is good," Zach decided. "If I can, I will attend Winslow. I like to meet people."

"Didn't you say that he wasn't in the system?" Emma pointed out. "If that's true, then he's almost certainly not enrolled at Winslow."

"Yeah, well," began Sophia.

* * *

 **Later, at Home**

* * *

"It's not like they'll even notice an extra student," Sophia argued. "Come on, Mom. It'll be good for him. Terry'll be at work, you'll be at work, Anna will be in daycare."

Naomi pursed her lips. She wasn't at all sure about this. "You realise, Family Services may well take him away before then."

"But if they don't?" Sophia urged. "Is it okay?"

Naomi sighed. "Zach, do you want to go to school with Sophia, if you're still staying here?"

"Yes, Naomi." Zach smiled. "It sounds very interesting."

"What sounds interesting?" asked Terry, strolling into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

"I am going to attend Winslow, Terry Hess," Zach told him. "Sophia says there are many people there."

"Hm." Terry quirked a grin. "Well, you seemed to survive the shopping mall of horrors, so I'm not going to try to talk you out of it." He paused, and his tone turned serious. "Just don't go picking fights with any gang members there. I'm pretty sure that some of them go armed."

"I will not pick any fights," Zach assured him.

"And if someone tries to pick a fight with you, just walk away," Terry added.

"Hell, no," protested Sophia. "Someone gets in your face, you get right back in theirs. You back down even once, they'll think you're weak and never stop coming at you."

Terry covered his eyes with his hand. "Sophia, this is _Winslow,"_ he reminded her. "You're reasonably popular and you're on the track team. Not many people are gonna mess with you. Zach's an unknown. He's got no cred there. It's best if he just keeps his head down and doesn't get caught up in anything."

"It is all right, Terry Hess," Zach assured him. "I will not start anything that I do not believe that I can finish."

"Plus, I'll be looking out for him." Sophia spread her hands. "He'll be fine. _Trust_ me."

"That's what I'm worried about," muttered Terry.

Sophia stuck her tongue out at him.

* * *

 **Monday Morning, January 3, 2011  
Winslow High School**

* * *

"So Family Services is letting him stay with you?" Emma sounded a little surprised.

"Sure," Sophia replied. "They went through their files and they couldn't find him, even in the ones specially set up for Endbringer victims and families. So they're still searching, and in the meantime, Mom's okay with him sleeping on our sofa."

"Yeah, but how's _he_ doing with sleeping on your sofa?" asked Madison.

"I do not mind, Madison," Zach told her. "It is a comfortable sofa, and I do not sleep much."

Madison grinned. "One of these days, we're gonna find something that you _do_ mind, Zach, and I wanna be there when it happens. Just so I can see what you're like when you're not happy."

Sophia had to wonder about that herself. Zach seemed to be the most even-tempered guy she knew. He didn't get sad and he didn't get angry. No matter what happened, he just … was.

 _Must be the Endbringer thing,_ she mused to herself. _He used up all his emotion reacting to that._

"Oh, hey, there's Taylor now," Emma said, her voice now filled with vicious glee. "She's heading for her locker. Come on."

She hurried forward, leaving the other three to follow in her wake. "Who is Taylor?" asked Zach. His voice held a new note of interest, but Sophia wasn't paying attention. She moved forward faster, leaving Madison behind to explain to Zach.

It happened like clockwork; Hebert opened the locker, letting the stench within out in all its horrific glory. Everyone within five yards gagged and reeled away, save for Sophia herself; she was holding her breath for that very reason. Taylor, at the locker, bent over to throw up.

 _I'll never get a better opportunity._ Sophia hadn't actually planned on this, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Grabbing Taylor's hair, she shoved her viciously into the locker, into the noxious sludge that was only now starting to ooze its way out. _Trash, meet trash._

The door was slammed shut; Sophia only just pulled her hands back out of the way in time. She looked up into Emma's eyes, bright and eager for mischief. A single thought passed between them; while Emma held the door shut, Sophia reached down and spun the combination lock, locking Taylor inside.

They stepped back then, as Taylor began to scream and bang on the door. All around them, people were staring, some in horrified delight, others in just plain shock.

"Holy shit," Emma gasped. "I don't believe it. We pulled it off."

* * *

 **Three Months Ago**

* * *

 _David didn't like to talk about the nightmares. To admit to such a thing would be to lessen himself in the eyes of others, at least as far as he was concerned. One of the most powerful men in the world, he cringed from the idea that such as he could not even control his own dreams._

 _So he slept alone, from both necessity and choice, where the touch of another could have made his slumber more restful. And so, on this one night, he dreamed a dream._

 _This dream would change the world._

 _In the dream, there was a city, a school and a girl. He did not know the city, save that it was gang-ridden, trapped in a slightly faster spiral of economic decay than the rest of the nation. He did not know the school, except that it was a teenage microcosm of the city around it, a hellhole of cliques and gangs, a pressure-cooker enclosed within four graffiti-encrusted brick walls. And he did not know the girl, but he knew her type. Not conventionally attractive, made introverted by circumstances rather than by nature. He knew the type well, because it was what he saw in the mirror on a daily basis._

 _An inverse of him, she had no power, no control over her daily life, at school or at home. Where others looked up to him, assisted him, even worked alongside him in his self-appointed duties, she was the opposite. Nobody looked up to her; in fact, for the most part, those who saw her at all looked down on her. The invisible girl, trapped in her own spiral of low self-esteem, emotional abuse and lack of anywhere to turn. Her path would inevitably lead, as his once had, toward ending it all in one way or another. Or attempting to. He had failed; she might not._

 _Within the dream, he felt emotion choking his throat._ _ **She's where I used to be. I wish I could help her.**_

 _But the dream was coming to an end, the vision of the girl beginning to fade like the morning fog. He watched as she was set upon by those who were nominally her peers, pushed into a stinking locker, locked in. As the dream trailed off, even as his gradually waking mind realised that it was a dream, he raged at the injustice of what was done to the girl._

 _ **I wish I'd been able to help her. Stop what was happening to her.**_

 _Waking, he blinked his eyes clear, finding tears on his cheeks. Reaching blindly for a handkerchief, he noisily blew his nose. "That was intense," he muttered to himself, even as the memory of the dream slid away from him. All he would recall, later, was that it had disturbed him on a deeply emotional level._

 _What Eidolon_ _ **didn't**_ _know, and would never learn, was that it had been no dream at all._

* * *

Sophia, equally jubilant, was about to reply, when Zach reached them. "What did you do that for?" he asked.

"It's _Taylor,"_ Emma told him. "She's a wimp. A weed. Someone who needs to be pushed down."

" _No."_

Sophia almost didn't recognise Zach's voice. The tone was harder, stronger and colder than she had ever heard from him before. He moved forward, toward the locker.

"Hey -" began Madison, grabbing his right arm. He swung back at her; her wrist took the initial shock, snapping like a dry twig. Sophia thought she heard more bones break as the petite brunette was lifted from her feet and sent flying through the air. She bowled over three more students before she hit the ground.

Emma was unlucky enough to be directly in front of him. He swept her out of the way with his left arm; folding almost in half from the force of the blow, she was thrown back into a locker.

Sophia didn't waste any time. _Not a cape, my ass. Time for nerve strikes and compliance holds._ One punch, two, feeling like she was hitting a brick wall. He didn't react. She grabbed his arm, trying to twist it back. He raised his arm with her still hanging off of it, then slammed her straight down into the floor. She landed hard on her back; something popped. Consciousness fading, she watched him stride up to the locker. Everyone else got hastily out of his way.

Reaching up, he grabbed the top of the locker door and tore it open as easily as Sophia might rip a page out of a book. The shriek of rending metal was still loud in her ears as he tossed the door aside. He caught Taylor as she tumbled out, hefting the skinny girl easily in his arms.

The last thing Sophia heard before she passed out was Zach's voice, as bright and cheerful as ever.

"Hello, Taylor Hebert! I am here to help you!"

* * *

End of Part One


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

Part Two: Halping!

* * *

Julia wasn't in a good position to see when Taylor Hebert was shoved into the locker, which had irritated her. All Madison had told her was that there was an 'awesome prank' going down, with Taylor as the butt of it, which was pretty well par for the course. Show up, Madison had said. Be ready to take pictures. It'll be _epic._

She hadn't been wrong. It was epic, all right. Epic in the same way that an Endbringer attack was epic. Julia hadn't been paying too much attention to Sophia's boy-toy, except to express a little surprise, given that the track star rarely spent time smooging up to guys. In fact, if Sophia had been a little more butch, Julia would have seriously begun to wonder if she was playing for the other team.

When the door slammed shut on Hebert, locking her in with all that crap, Julia had been delighted and amazed – along with being a little pissed, of course. If she'd _known_ that was gonna go down, she would've picked a better vantage point.

Of course, if she'd known what _else_ was going to go down, she would've picked a different vantage point altogether, for an entirely different reason.

The first thing that clued her in on something being wrong (for anyone not named Taylor Hebert, of course) was when Madison came flying at her. Not staggering, not even running backward. _Flying._ Like, airborne. And Julia was in the way.

Point of note: petite girls are still _heavy._ When one slams into you at waythefucktoofast speed, they can and will bowl you the fuck off of your feet. _And_ the people behind you.

Julia went down, of course. Madison landed on her, then rolled off, groaning horribly. Julia wondered if her ribs were broken, or if Madison's impact had just bruised everything from her kidneys on forward. She still had her phone in her hand. It was a conditioned reflex ingrained into every teen; whatever else happens, don't ever lose your phone. Gang attack, Endbringer event, the Triumvirate showing up for a publicity stunt, it was all the same. If you didn't know where your phone was, you were _nothing._

Hebert didn't even _own_ a phone. That was her in a nutshell, really.

Gasping for breath, Julia watched as the boy-toy slammed Emma up against a locker, then bounced Sophia off the floor like a basketball. Sophia didn't bounce too well. Then the boy-toy stepped up to the locker and fucking _ripped the door off._ Julia's eyes went wide; before, she'd been going to call the cops and paramedics and shit. Now she knew exactly who she was gonna call.

And it _wasn't_ the fucking Ghostbusters.

* * *

" _You've reached nine-one-one. What is your emergency?"_

"Parahuman attack," gasped Julia. With wide, terrified eyes, she watched the boy-toy, with Taylor Hebert in his arms, stride down the hallway and out of sight. Nobody tried to stop him, for several really obvious reasons. One was the fact that he'd just torn off a locker door with his bare hands. The second was that the stuff that Emma and the others had put in Taylor's locker _stank._ And some of it was stuck to Hebert's legs. They could probably smell her in _Boston._

The phone clicked and buzzed, then she heard a new voice. _"You have reached the PRT emergency call line. Are you experiencing a parahuman attack at this time?"_

"My – my friends have been attacked," Julia sobbed. "They're hurt badly, I think. The guy just hit them."

" _I understand,"_ the woman on the other end of the line told her soothingly. _"Can you tell me your location, please?"_

"I – Winslow High School," Julia stammered, trying not to hyperventilate. "Please help us. He might come back any moment."

" _I'm alerting the PRT as we speak,"_ the woman said soothingly. _"The more information you can give me about this, the better. What sort of powers were used to attack your friends, and how badly are they injured?"_

Julia couldn't recall what they called really strong capes. "He just – just _hit_ them, really hard. Just a single punch to put them down," she blurted. "Then he ripped a locker door off with his bare hands. He's strong, really strong."

She could hear the clatter of computer keys. _"A Brute classification, then. How badly are your friends injured?"_

"Uh -" Julia sat up and looked at Madison. The brunette was moaning weakly and clutching at her arm. It looked twisted in a really weird way, and her wrist just looked all wrong. Sophia was still lying on her back, a few yards away, breath hissing through her teeth. Julia couldn't see if there was anything badly wrong with Emma, but she was folded into a curled-up position, so she decided to go with the safest option. "I think they're all hurt pretty badly. Broken bones at least. He hit them really hard." She was aware that she was repeating the same words over and over – _he hit them really hard –_ but she couldn't help herself.

" _Ambulance services have been dispatched to your location. Can you describe the parahuman to me? Was he wearing a costume?"_

"No," she said. "He was just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He's new here. I thought he was a friend of Sophia's. Tall, good-looking, black hair, kind of serious. I didn't get his name."

" _That's fine, that's fine,"_ the PRT woman replied gently. _"Now, what I want you to do is describe the incident to me as closely as you can. Don't leave out any uses of his powers. Can you do that for me?"_

Julia took a deep breath. _We locked some girl in her locker and he went nuts and rescued her. Yeah, that'll go down real well._ "Uh, someone played some kinda prank and he just went nuts for no good reason," she hedged. "Hit Emma and Sophia and Madison, then ripped off a locker door, then went off with some girl."

The woman's tone sharpened. _"There's someone with him now? Do you believe her life to be in danger?"_

 _Why did I mention Taylor?_ "Uh, probably not. She's probably in on it with him. She's a creepy weird loner."

" _I see. Do you know her name?"_

"Uh, yeah, Taylor. Taylor Hebert."

" _Have you seen them together before this point?"_

She thought of lying, but decided it was too dangerous. "Uh, no, this was the first time I met him. But they could've met out of school."

" _Thank you. Your friends, the injured girls. Can you tell me their full names?"_

"Uh, yes. Emma Barnes, Madison Clements and Sophia Hess. My name's Julia."

* * *

 **Parahuman Response Teams ENE  
Office of Deputy Director Renick**

Paul Renick pushed his glasses back up on his nose and eyed the email with a vaguely quizzical air. _Now, why would Kid Win be requisitioning seventeen pounds of popcorn and a rubber duck … well, never mind. I'm sure Armsmaster's ordered in stranger things before._ He forwarded the email onward, with his approval attached, then turned to the next one in the queue.

But before he could click it open, an alert flag popped up on his desktop. Reflexively, he clicked on it. A window unfolded, and he started scanning the lines of text.

 _Parahuman attack at Winslow High. Reported by student. Female, young, agitated._

 _Perp Brute. Several students injured. Dispatching emerg services._

 _Perp male, teenage, good looking, black hair, serious appearance. No name given. Friend of student called Sophia. No costume, no mask. T-shirt, jeans._

 _Perp responded to prank with violence. Struck three girls. Emma, Sophia, Madison. Tore door off of locker (why?) HOSTAGE._

 _Caller does not think hostage is in danger (why?) Hostage name is Taylor Herbert (sp?). Caller has not seen hostage w/perp, but thinks that they may be in collusion (why?)._

Renick kept reading, his brow furrowing. This was a standard call-out; he wasn't sure why the alert had popped up on his computer. Then he scrolled onward a little, and saw the highlighted name.

 _Full names of victims Emma Barnes (sp?), Madison Clements,_ _ **Sophia Hess**_ _._

He hadn't registered the name 'Sophia' above, but now he recalled it. _Wait, she took a Brute friend to school, where he attacked her and some other students? What's going on here?_

Picking his phone up, he hit speed-dial. It didn't take long for him to get an answer. "Emily," he said carefully, "I think we may have a situation."

He didn't miss the groan from the other end. Emily _hated_ 'situations'.

* * *

I sniffed the air as I scrubbed my legs again. I'd been wearing jeans – I would have to burn them now – but even though I was clean, I still _felt_ the touch of that shit on me. But I couldn't smell anything other than soap and water, so I decided to stop scrubbing. My skin was starting to get a bit red, anyway. Of course, the water was pretty hot too …

"I have brought you clean clothes and a towel, Taylor Hebert!"

I spun around, arms flying to cover myself. But he wasn't looking. All I could see was a handful of what looked like clothing being held across the entrance to the shower cubicle.

Well, I was clean enough already. I turned the shower off and reached for the clothing. "Thanks. Uh … sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier. Who are you again, and why are you helping me?" The thought was never far from my mind that this might be some kind of massive multi-layered prank, to set me up and then have the whole school take photos of me naked or something.

"My name is Zachary. Sophia gave me that name. I am here to help you."

I started to dry myself. "Sophia … _Hess?_ You know Sophia?" The ugly possibilities in the back of my mind began to multiply.

"Yes, Taylor Hebert. I know Sophia. She is not a nice person. She hurt you. I liked her until she did that. Then I stopped liking her."

Zachary's delivery was … odd. Almost robotic. Or very naïve. I finished drying myself and scrubbed at my scalp. "But why did you help me? You don't know me." _Even the people who know me don't want to help me._

His voice was almost comically bright. "I am here to help you, Taylor Hebert! That is what I am here to do!"

 _Circular argument. I am here to help you, so I am helping you._

I had to know. Mom had instilled in me a certain level of curiosity. "But _why_ are you here to help me?" With the towel wrapped around my hair, I started getting dressed.

"Because that is the basis of my existence, Taylor Hebert! I am here to help you!"

The clothing wasn't mine. Too short and too wide, but there was also a belt, which I managed to pull in to the last notch. I had to take the towel off of my head to put on the t-shirt, which hung on me like a tent, but at least I was dressed.

Okay. _Now_ I could address the philosophical conundrum that had been presented to me.

I stepped out of the shower cubicle and met his gaze squarely. "So what you're saying is that you're in love with me. Is that it?" _Oh, god, please don't let that be it. He's kinda hunky, but I don't need an obsessed boyfriend. Especially one whom I've never met before._

He looked vaguely confused. "I am not in love with you, Taylor Hebert. I am here to help you. Now, come with me and you can eat some food."

" … food?" I blinked, trying to get past the conversational whiplash.

"Yes, Taylor Hebert. You have undergone a most traumatic experience. Trauma induces shock. It is good to eat food in order to reduce the effects of shock."

"I …" I guessed that I was still a little shaky from all of what had happened. Not least being the fact that I'd been rescued by an overly attentive stranger who was determined to wait on me hand and foot. " … okay. Food sounds good."

"Food _is_ good, Taylor Hebert. You are more than a little underweight. Perhaps you need to eat a little more food every day and exercise for muscle mass. That would be a healthy thing to do."

Overly attentive wasn't the _half_ of it, apparently. He was also incredibly rude, without even intending to be so.

Well, _kinda_ rude. In a well-meaning way.

I snuck a sideways glance at him as we walked along the corridor. He really was good looking. Also, if his biceps were any indication, he had _serious_ muscle definition. _Also_ also, he had gotten me out of the locker. Okay, I could forgive the rudeness. This time.

"Okay, uh, Zachary?"

"Yes, Taylor Hebert?"

"For one thing, my name's Taylor, all right. Just Taylor, not 'Taylor Hebert' all the time."

"Yes, Taylor. I will remember that."

"Thank you, Zachary. Uh, do you prefer Zachary or Zach?"

"I have no preference, Taylor. You may refer to me by either name."

"Okay, Zach, one other rule. Please don't make personal comments about my weight or habits unless I invite them, all right? It makes me feel uncomfortable."

"I will try not to make you feel uncomfortable, Taylor. But I will make an observation."

He paused. I nodded cautiously. "Yes?"

"Sometimes it is necessary to make someone uncomfortable in order to help them. Is that not true?"

 _Dammit._ He had me there.

"Uh, okay, yeah, but still? Ask permission before making any personal comments, all right?"

"I will do that, Taylor." He pushed open the cafeteria door. One staff member was present, wiping down the counter. The smell of hot food tickled my nostrils, making my stomach growl. "I will get you some food, Taylor."

Food did sound good, but I was pretty sure that we weren't supposed to be there. We approached the servery counter; it was all there, but locked behind glass. "Um, maybe we could go to a vending machine?"

"Why do we need to do that, Taylor?"

I gestured at the inaccessible food. "Because we can't get to it?"

"Can I help you?" We both looked around at the lady behind the counter. She returned a surly expression. I was pretty sure that her question really meant _What the fuck are you doing in my cafeteria?_

"Yes, you can help us, please," Zach said brightly. "Taylor needs some food. You would be helping her if you gave her something to eat."

The woman stared at him, then at me. I essayed a little shrug, trying to convey _It wasn't my idea, but I am kinda hungry._ I wasn't sure if she actually got all of that.

"Cafeteria's closed," grunted the woman, starting to wipe the bench again. "Come back at lunch time."

That was pretty definite as far as dismissals went. I started to turn away, but Zach spoke again. "No. Taylor is here now. She needs food now." There was a harder tone in his voice, one that I hadn't heard before. "Please give her food now, so that she can eat."

I put my hand on his arm. "Zach, it's all right. I can wait."

"No, Taylor," he insisted. "You need food. There is food right here." He shifted his attention to the woman. "Please give Taylor some food."

The woman's lip curled. "Go away before I call the principal. You're not even supposed to be _in_ here."

"All right." For a moment, I thought that Zach was seeing sense. Then he took hold of the end of the glass cover with one hand, braced the other on the counter … and with a sound like a trainwreck, pulled the cover clear off the servery. _That_ was loud enough. When he casually tossed it to one side, where it demolished a table? That was even _louder_.

I'd been _meaning_ to ask him how he got me out of that locker.

* * *

Armsmaster turned his head. A glance at his HUD selected 'all units'. "Armsmaster here. What was that noise, over?"

A moment passed, then a voice came over comms. _"Squad Three Actual. We're near the cafeteria. The sound came from inside there. It sounds like someone's wrecking the place, over."_

"Roger, Squad Three Actual. Hold position. All other units, converge on the cafeteria. Armsmaster out." He cut his mic and looked down at where the paramedics were loading the three injured girls on to gurneys. All the other civilians had since been evacuated, of course. "How long until you can evac them?"

"We'll be done in a minute." The man in charge glanced up at him. "We've got multiple broken bones, possible internal injuries and maybe spinal damage. But they're stable. We'll have them out of your way soon."

"Good." He paced forward, glanced at Miss Militia. She held a heavy machinegun in a casual grip, a bright red laser dot playing on the far end of the corridor. There were not many people who could use a laser sight with a gun that size; it went without saying that she was one of the few. "Rest of the school's been evacuated?"

She nodded. "Almost. Classrooms have been cleared. Squad Four reported finding torn-open lockers in the girls' shower room."

He frowned slightly. "What is it with this Brute and lockers? And what's with _that_ locker and the filth that's in it?" He gestured with his halberd toward the locker in question; the appalling reek was easily discernible ten yards away. "That's going to need a hazmat team to clear up."

"I think it means that there's something going on that we don't know about," Miss Militia said pensively. "Maybe it's got something to do with the hostage."

Armsmaster grimaced. "I _hate_ hostage situations."

"Don't lie," she murmured, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "You love anything that gives you a challenge you can overcome."

He didn't rise to the bait. She was closer to the truth than he was comfortable with. He wanted – _needed –_ to prove himself, to show the higher-ups that he was relevant, able to hold his own at the top of the heap in Brockton Bay. His social skills were atrocious, he knew, but there were things that he had trouble grasping and things that came easily to him. Engineering. Leadership. Fighting. _Those_ were his forte.

"Okay, we're ready to roll." He looked around. The paramedics were lifting the gurneys, holding the IV trees up out of the way, making preparations to evacuate the injured. _The victims,_ he reminded himself. _Including a Ward. That makes it personal._

"Good," he said. "Let's go." The blink of an eye brought up a plan of the school; he set the cafeteria as their target, and the navigation system overlaid a path on the map. The path was also projected on his field of view, so that he didn't have to check with the map. A little overkill while walking through a high school, no doubt, but immeasurably useful when riding at full tilt through the back streets of Brockton Bay.

" _Assault here,"_ he heard in his earpiece; a quick check showed that it was coming in on the capes-only frequency. _"Me and puppy can provide backup if you want. Because, you know, Brute and all."_

"We're trying to keep this low-key," Armsmaster replied firmly. "There's a hostage involved. If he sees too many capes coming at him, he might panic and hurt her."

" _So Miss Militia's going to do the talking, gotcha."_

"Clear the channel," growled Armsmaster. He shot a suspicious glance at Miss Militia; she may have been smiling under the scarf, but he couldn't be certain. After a moment, he cleared his throat and opened the cape channel once more. "Armsmaster to Velocity. Are you in position, over?"

" _Roger that,"_ the speedster replied. _"Once you go in there, if I can zip in and grab the girl, I will."_

"Hold off on that until we get a read on him," Armsmaster advised him. "He may have better reflexes than we know about. Right now, the well-being of this girl ..."

"Taylor Hebert," Miss Militia reminded him.

"Taylor Hebert, is paramount."

" _Holding off, roger."_

"Good." He cut the channel again, and accessed the notes taken by the PRT emergency call responder. "Says here her name is Herbert."

"I checked the school records," Miss Militia told him. "More than one student by the name of Herbert, but no Taylors. There is one Taylor Hebert, though. Fifteen years old."

"Hm." He nodded, taking the information on board. "Poor kid. She must be about scared to death by now."

* * *

This was the first time I had ever felt actually comfortable in the school cafeteria. With nobody else to poke fun at me or 'accidentally' knock my tray to the floor, or spill their drink on me, I was able to actually relax and enjoy my meal in peace.

Of course, the fact that Zach had more or less destroyed the servery was a bit of a downer, but I was carefully ignoring that aspect of matters. He was strong. I mean, really, really strong. But he had never hurt me with that strength. In fact, he was using it to help me. I found it weird in the extreme, but that didn't stop me from enjoying the heck out of the meal. The fact that I wasn't really _questioning_ that strength was a faint niggle at the back of my mind, but one that I chose to ignore for the moment. It wasn't really important, anyway.

Finally, I pushed my tray away and essayed a delicate ladylike burp. Well, it started that way, then went way out of control. "Wow," I muttered. "Excuse me and all that."

"You do not need to be excused, Taylor," Zach said. "Belching is a perfectly normal bodily function." He had stayed quiet, at my request, while I was eating, but now it seemed that he felt at liberty to speak once more.

"Ah, yeah, let's not expand on bodily functions," I said hastily. "So, uh, what do we do now? My locker's destroyed, my books are totalled and I think they're gonna be a little pissed at what you did to the servery."

"I can help to repair that," offered Zach. "But I do not have any money to pay for it." He paused. "You did not explain why Sophia put you in your locker. Lockers are not intended for human accommodation. Nor are they intended for toxic waste storage. Why did she do this?"

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. "It's not just Sophia. It's Emma and Madison as well. They've been picking on me since I started high school. Everything they can do to hurt me or make me feel bad, they'll do it."

He looked solemn. "This is not a good thing."

"No shit it's not a good thing," I said, a little more vehemently than I had intended. "I just wish they'd stop, is all."

"Have you asked them to stop?" His voice was matter-of-fact.

I smiled bitterly. "I've done nothing _but,_ since they started. Telling the teachers does nothing. Telling the principal does nothing. They just keep doing it."

"Oh." He stood up from his chair. "I will return, Taylor."

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" I jumped up as well.

"I am going to solve your problem."

I caught up with him as he strode toward the doors. "How are you going to do that?"

"I am going to kill them." His tone was earnest, almost scarily so.

"No, you can't! Killing is wrong!"

"No, it is not." He really intended to do this. I could hear it in his voice. "Sophia will understand. She knows that it is sometimes necessary to kill to solve a problem. I will let her explain to the other two, and give them time to make their peace with whatever deity they consider significant."

"Wait, no," I protested. I grabbed him by the arm. "Stop!"

Coming to a halt, he turned to me. "Why are you stopping me? It is the most expeditious solution to your problem. If they are dead, they cannot hurt you."

I stared into his face, trying to reach him. "Don't kill them. Don't kill _anyone._ Please."

He tilted his head. "I want to help you, Taylor. I am here to help you. Do you want them to stop bullying you?"

"Yes … no … but … argh!" I scrubbed at my forehead with the back of my hand. "Not like _this._ If you killed someone on my account, I would never be able to forget that someone died because of me."

"I will not kill them, Taylor," he agreed.

I sighed with relief. "Good. Thank you. That makes me feel much better."

"I am glad that you feel better," he said simply. "I have an alternate strategy in mind. I do not need to kill them."

A sense of impending doom tapped me on the shoulder and bet me that the alternate strategy was worse. I tried to ignore it. "What is your new strategy?"

He smiled at me. "I will frighten them instead. I will tell them that I _will_ kill them if they do not stop hurting you."

Mentally, I handed the sense of impending doom fifty bucks. It had been right all along. "No. That will hurt me _and_ my dad. Badly."

He looked confused. "But I will not be killing anyone, Taylor. How is this hurting you?"

I sighed. "Emma Barnes is the daughter of a lawyer. If you make threats against her on my behalf, then her father will probably sue me and Dad so hard my _grandkids_ will be paying off the damages."

"But you do not have grandchildren, Taylor."

"It's a figure of speech. It means that it'll be very costly to me and Dad. Please don't threaten Emma with death or dismemberment. She's extremely vindictive."

"Oh." He brightened. "Then I will -"

The sense of impending doom was back, but before it could offer me a new bet, the cafeteria doors opened. We both looked around. I was expecting one of the teachers, or maybe Principal Blackwell. What I _wasn't_ expecting was Armsmaster and Miss Militia.

 _Oh, wait. Zach's a cape. Well, duh._

I waved. "Uh, hi?" The wave and my tone of voice were intended to be disarming. _We're good. No need for any unpleasantness._

It didn't seem to work. Armsmaster levelled his halberd at Zach, while Miss Militia aimed a taser at him. At least, I assumed it was a taser; it looked like it could bring down a medium-sized elephant. "Taylor Hebert?" That was Miss Militia.

"Yeah?" Boy, was I on fire with the witty dialogue today.

"Are you hurt?" Her voice was serious.

I blinked. "Um, a bit scraped here and there, but fine, thanks." The locker hadn't been kind to my knees and elbows, of course, but Zach had gotten me out before I did too much damage to myself.

"Please step away from the parahuman," Armsmaster said. It was _worded_ like a request, but I would have had to be tone-deaf, _actually_ deaf and unconscious to not hear it as an order.

"What?" I asked. "Why?" I stepped a little closer to Zach, just to make my point. "He's not hurting me. He even got me something to eat."

Armsmaster flicked a glance sideways at the remains of the servery. "Causing serious damage to school property."

Zach chose that point to speak up. "The lady would not serve Taylor. Taylor needed food. I obtained the food for her."

"He's right," I agreed. "I was kind of in shock. I really needed to eat." I moved again, stepping in front of Zach. Armsmaster frowned slightly, maybe because I was spoiling his aim. "Don't attack him. He didn't do anything wrong."

"On the contrary, Miss Hebert, he has perpetrated three counts of grievous bodily harm," Armsmaster stated flatly. "In addition to this and other incidences of damage to school property."

I turned to Zach. "You didn't tell me that you hurt anyone!"

"I was helping you," he replied innocently. "They tried to stop me from helping you. I did not allow them to do so."

"Wait," I said. "So who did you hurt?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Armsmaster begin to move, but Miss Militia put her hand on his arm. "Hold that thought," I added to Zach, then turned back to the heroes. "Can you just hold on a moment? I need to sort this out."

I hadn't known that it was possible to glower at someone from behind an opaque visor. In the event, Armsmaster proved that this was indeed the case. Miss Militia didn't seem so angry, although she did look a little concerned. "Please do not provoke him," she advised me, as if Zach wasn't right there. "We don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"I will not hurt Taylor," Zach stated plainly. "I am here to help her. I will keep her safe."

"He really has," I told them. "Now, can you just _hold on?_ I need to find out what happened."

Miss Militia nodded. "All right, but be careful."

I sighed. I wasn't sure who was being more aggravating, my self-appointed bodyguard or the self-important heroes. "Okay. Zach. Who did you hurt and why?"

There was no duplicity in his gaze as he looked at me. "I hurt Madison because she tried to hold me back from helping you. I hurt Emma because she stood in my way and because she locked you in your locker. I hurt Sophia because she pushed you into your locker and tried to prevent me from letting you out. I did not kill any of them."

He did not add _but I could have, because you had not asked me not to kill anyone at that time._ For which I was eternally grateful.

"Right. Okay." I turned back to the heroes. "How badly are they hurt? Life-threatening?"

From the expressions moving over the visible part of Armsmaster's face, he had obviously not known about my little stint in the locker. "Uh, no. Serious, yes, but not life-threatening." He firmed his stance. "We still have to arrest him. Using parahuman powers on normals is a very serious crime."

"Wait." It was Miss Militia. "You're saying that _Sophia Hess_ pushed you into your locker? The one with all the filth in it? And another one of the girls locked you in? With her connivance?"

There was something off about her wording, but I wasn't paying much attention. "I, uh … I didn't see who did it, exactly. But Zach did." I turned to him again. "Is that what happened?"

He nodded earnestly. "That is exactly what happened. I thought Sophia was a good person. Then she did that, and I knew that she was not." In exactly the same tone of voice, he continued, "Are you certain that I should not kill her? She intended to harm you badly. I can not allow that to happen."

 _Oh, god,_ I groaned, deep inside. _He didn't just say that where they could hear him._

My imagination stepped in with a second voice, snickering. _He sure did. Where's the popcorn?_

I did my best to quell my imagination. _"Yes,"_ I told Zach as firmly as I could. "You must never kill anyone, ever. That is a very bad thing. I would be very hurt if you did that. And you should not hurt the heroes, either." Absently, I considered the fact that I was adopting his speech patterns while talking to him. _Hopefully, that'll make it more likely that he'll listen._

"I will not hurt you, Taylor," he agreed. "I will not kill Sophia. Is it acceptable to harm her short of death if she attacks you again?"

"I dunno," I mused, then turned to look at the Protectorate capes. _"Is_ it okay to just break Sophia's kneecaps if she tries to shove me into another locker? Because really, I've taken enough shit from her over the last year. I've had enough. Turning the other cheek just gets me bruised cheeks. So I think it's time for some eye-for-an-eye. Self-defence, defence of others, whatever. When Sophia gets out of the hospital, if she comes after me again, I figure that whatever Zach does to her, she deserves. Yeah?"

"Let's … shelve that for a moment." Miss Militia lowered her taser; a moment later, it had become a pistol, which she holstered. Armsmaster went to say something, but she shook her head. He frowned, but seemed to follow her lead. "Can we get back to where you were shoved into your locker?"

It was my turn to grimace. "Not my favourite memory, like, ever, but sure. Let's do that. What do you want to know?"

The flag-clad hero turned her attention to Zach. "Your name is Zach?"

"Yes. Sophia gave me my name." He seemed proud of that fact.

"Wait." That was Armsmaster. "That's not your real name?"

"Yes, it is my real name." Zach tilted his head. "Why would it not be a real name?"

"Never mind that for now." Miss Militia was back on track. "Zach, you are certain that you saw Sophia Hess pushing Taylor into her locker?"

Something was definitely off here. They were paying a lot of attention to what Sophia had done, and none at all to Emma. I wasn't able to think it through, because the conversation was still ongoing.

"Yes," Zach said firmly. "I saw her do it while Madison explained to me who Taylor Hebert was. Sophia pushed Taylor into her locker and Emma locked her in. Once I knew that this was Taylor Hebert, I knew that she was the one that I was here to help. So I helped her. I pushed the other girls aside and opened the locker and got Taylor out. Then I took her to the locker room so that she could get clean and wear clean clothes. Then I brought her here because food is good for shock."

His matter-of-fact tone seemed to puzzle the heroes. I was also reminded of something that I had wanted to clarify with Zach, but which had somehow managed to be pushed to the back of my mind. _Why is he here to help me? Who sent him? What's this all about?_

But Armsmaster was speaking. "I understand that you believe you were justified in what you are doing," he stated. "But you have committed several crimes, including assault and battery, destruction of property and theft. I suggest that you surrender peacefully to arrest." His halberd was levelled again.

"No." Zach said the word simply, but there was a weight behind it, as of an immovable object. "When I am not with Taylor, people try to harm her. I will not allow that. I will not leave her alone to be harmed. I am here to help her. If you try to harm her, then I will stop you."

"Threatening a member of the Protectorate is an offence," Armsmaster replied grimly. "Miss Hebert, step away from the parahuman, or I will be forced to consider you to be an accessory to his actions."

"For god's sake!" I burst out. "People committed crimes against _me,_ and he saved me, and you're arresting _him?_ I thought _you_ were supposed to be the heroes here!"

"Your allegations against the other girls have all been recorded," Armsmaster told me. "They will be investigated fully. But in the meantime, we _know_ that these crimes have been committed. This parahuman is required to surrender himself to lawful custody until the matter can be sorted out."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Zach put his hand on my shoulder. "Taylor, please move aside," he told me. "I can protect you more than you can protect me."

"But they can't just _arrest_ you," I protested. "You're only helping me! It's everyone else who's doing the wrong thing!"

He smiled slightly. "They will not arrest me." Once again, I was struck by the absolute certainty of his tone. I had no idea why I believed him so implicitly, but I did. I stepped aside, moving until a couple of yards separated us.

Armsmaster spoke, a single word. "Now." I tensed, expecting him and Miss Militia to unleash attacks on Zach. It didn't happen, but something else did. A blur erupted from the open doorway, blazed past Miss Militia and Armsmaster, and intercepted me. I tried to dodge aside, but the blur resolved into a man in a familiar costume. _Velocity._

"'Scuse me, gotta run." He scooped me up in a bridal carry, and went to bolt once more. My thought processes were still catching up – _no, no, they can't just do this! -_ when he stopped once more. It wasn't by choice. Zach was standing right there, his hand wrapped around Velocity's upper arm.

"You will put Taylor down, at once," Zach advised Velocity. "Please. Taylor does not want me to hurt you."

"What the crap?" blurted the red-clad speedster. "How did you do that?"

I didn't wait for Zach's answer; instead, I wedged the palm of my hand up under his chin and pushed hard. He wore a light helmet, both for protection and to hold his radio, I guessed, and this threatened to dislodge it. Faced with the choice of losing the helmet or having his head pushed up, he chose instead to let me go. I would have landed on my butt, but Zach somehow got his arm under my shoulders, slowing my fall enough that I got my feet under me instead.

* * *

The moment he was free of the Brute's grasp, Velocity went into his Breaker state and blurred away from the both of them, ending up back at the door. _How the hell did that even happen?_ he asked himself. _Is he a teleporter? I didn't even see him move._

" _Stand down, Velocity,"_ Armsmaster subvocalised into his ear. _"We've got this."_

" _What happened, kid?"_ Assault asked over the common channel. _"Did the big bad Brute tag you?"_ There was the hint of a chuckle in his voice.

"Shut up," muttered Velocity. "I'd like to see _you_ do any better."

" _Well, if the boss-man decides to tag us in, we'll see,"_ Assault replied.

Ignoring the radio chatter, Armsmaster was focusing on the teenage parahuman. "One more chance to surrender peacefully," he advised the kid.

"I will not surrender," the Brute replied. He wasn't boasting or blustering, simply stating a fact. "If you take me away, then Taylor may be harmed. I will not allow that."

"I think we're perfectly adequate to keep her safe," Miss Militia pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you've done a bang-up job of it so far," the girl – Taylor – interjected bitterly. "Where were you when I got shoved into my locker? Or when my flute got stolen? Or when they poured juice over my seat? Or when Sophia pushed me down the stairs? They've been doing this for over a fucking _year,_ and you only get involved when someone actually steps in to help me? Fuck you. Fuck you all." She turned to Zach. "If they attack you, you're allowed to hurt them. Just don't kill them."

"I will not kill them, Taylor," Zach said solemnly. "I promise." He stepped toward Armsmaster and Miss Militia. "Please move aside. Taylor and I are leaving now."

Armsmaster responded first. His halberd was capable of a wireless taser effect, Velocity knew. He also knew that the effect had variable settings. The crackling bolt that leaped from the tip of the weapon and grounded in Zach's chest was definitely not the _lowest_ setting.

It did … nothing. Zach looked down at it, then intercepted the bolt with his hand, apparently allowing the current to flow down his arm and into his body. The T-shirt he was wearing now sported a burned spot in the middle of the chest.

A pained cry from Taylor as she stood off to the side drew everyone's attention. It looked as though a stray arc of electricity had contacted her, given that she was shaking her hand vigorously. Armsmaster shut off the wireless taser; it wasn't as though the attack was doing anything to Zach anyway. Velocity wondered just how high the guy's Brute rating really was.

"As my brother might say, that was cute," Zach stated. "Taylor, are you well?"

"Yeah," she replied, rubbing a red spot on her hand. "Stung like fuck, is all."

"Good." He turned his attention to Armsmaster. "You are not responsible enough to use your weapon properly. Give it to me before anyone else gets hurt."

Armsmaster hefted his halberd defensively. "You _are_ joking."

"I do not know how to joke," Zach said, and stepped forward. "Give your weapon to me before you harm Taylor again. I promise not to hurt you with it."

Miss Militia had been pushing grenades into a bulky launcher while this was going on. Velocity knew that if she wanted to fire regular rounds, they would already be loaded up, so these had to be some sort of Tinkertech. _Probably a good idea, with the girl there. Some sort of limited effect._

The exact effect revealed itself a moment later, when Miss Militia fired the grenade launcher at Zach. She didn't just shoot once; one grenade after another hit Zach, as fast as she could rack the action. Containment foam bloomed in splotches on the approaching parahuman, the yellow blobs expanding rapidly to hold and constrict him in an unbreakable grip.

Unbreakable, that is, except by high-end Brutes. Which Zach apparently was, as he _just kept coming._ He tore away the foam that had covered his head and chest with a wet ripping sound, while some of the foam that had adhered to the floor stayed there and some stayed attached to his legs. Either way, it did nothing to slow him down. _Christ, that's gotta be Brute 7 or 8 at least._

Armsmaster went into a guard position, his halberd crackling with energy. "I warn you, if you do not surrender immediately, you will be seriously injured -"

Now shirtless, Zach reached for the halberd. Armsmaster spun adroitly, slamming the butt-end of it against the teen Brute's chest. Now, this _should_ have unleashed a burst of kinetic energy capable of knocking Zach across the room. The energy was unleashed, with a loud POP and the smell of ozone. Zach stumbled back a single step, then recovered.

Before he could move forward, however, the heroes were reacting. Armsmaster pointed his halberd at the ceiling; the end of it shot upward with a cable trailing behind, reconfiguring into a grappling hook. Miss Militia, on the other hand, was rapidly retreating.

The grapple engaged on a light fitting, and Armsmaster was yanked upward. Even as he left the floor, more grenades plopped into the foam still encasing Zach's lower body, then commenced hissing, releasing a dirty white vapour. Velocity counted two tear gas grenades and two knockout gas grenades; they weren't playing around. With all but a very few exceptions, even the toughest Brutes had to breathe, and Zach showed no signs of being one of the few.

As Velocity retreated with Miss Militia and the PRT soldiers, he heard four distinct _cracks._ He had no idea what they meant, until Armsmaster spoke up over comms. _"He's thrown the grenades_ _ **through**_ _the wall."_ The Tinker sounded distinctly aggrieved.

"Any effect on him?" That was Miss Militia.

" _None that I can see."_

"What's he doing now?"

" _Peeling the rest of the containment foam off. He's definitely an eight-plus for Brute. Maybe a minor Mover or Thinker as well."_

"And the girl?"

" _She seems unharmed. Stayed out of the radius of the gas. Doesn't appear to be frightened of him."_

"Damn it. What are our options?"

" _Heavy weapons. Really heavy weapons."_

Assault's voice broke into the chat. _"Hey, me and Battery can come see what we can do."_

" _Negative."_ Armsmaster's voice brooked no argument. _"Fall back. He's moving toward the door with the girl."_

Miss Militia hesitated. "I can try armour-piercing …"

" _At best, he would ignore it. At worst, I suspect that it would just make him mad. I don't think we want to see him angry."_

" _Hulk smash?"_ That was Assault.

" _Clear the channel,"_ ordered Armsmaster.

" _No sense of humour,"_ muttered Assault, but fell silent after that.

They were backing down the corridor now, as the doors opened once more. Zach stepped out first, followed by the skinny girl. She looked over at them. "Why don't you just leave us alone?" she shouted. "You're only making things worse!"

"She, uh, has a point," suggested Velocity diffidently. "If you look at it in a certain way."

" _Our job is to uphold the law,"_ Armsmaster stated. _"Parahumans don't just get to commit crimes and walk away scot-free. There is a price to be paid."_

Velocity wasn't quite sure that it was as black and white as all that, but then, he wasn't the leader of the local branch of the Protectorate. He didn't get to make that call. Or, to put it another way, he wasn't the one being saddled with making that call.

"I have a suggestion, then." Miss Militia kept her voice down, although the pair were walking off in the opposite direction. Zach wasn't looking back, although Taylor was, from time to time.

The doors opened again, and Armsmaster stepped out. "I'm listening."

"We bring in the Wards."

He shook his head. "No. We can't expose them to this level of danger."

"Not all of the Wards," she explained. "Just Vista, Gallant and Clockblocker."

He seemed to think about that. " … yes. I see where you're going with this."

"Is that a green light?"

"Let me call the Director first. She needs to be in on the loop, here."

"Oh, she's going to _love_ this one." Miss Militia's tone was heavy with sarcasm.

 _She's not the only one,_ thought Velocity.

* * *

End of Part Two


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

Part Three: Insanity is Contagious

* * *

There was a phrase that went through Director Piggot's mind quite often, especially when dealing with those parahumans who were nominally under her command. However, due to the need for at least the appearance of propriety, she had never gotten around to using it.

Until right now.

"You have to be insane," she stated flatly. She had no image of Armsmaster – this was a voice-only call – but she glared at the phone anyway. "Whoever or whatever that is, he handily defeated three of you in a matter of moments. You are _not_ sending three Wards up against him. What are you _thinking?"_

On her computer monitor, the action that had been relayed from Armsmaster's helmet recording began to play through again, this time without sound.

" _Uh, Director, it was actually my idea,"_ Miss Militia interjected; Armsmaster must have cut her in on a conference call. _"And the plan is not to send them in to fight him."_

Piggot frowned. "Go on."

" _It's clear that this 'Zachary' does what Taylor Hebert tells him what to do. So in order to de-escalate the situation, we need to reach her. Attacking with force is not the way to do this. We've already proven that."_

"I'm listening."

" _Vista is the youngest of our Wards, and she's the only girl other than Shadow Stalker. But she's also a nice person, and quite unthreatening as Wards go. Also, she can retreat very rapidly if she has to."_

Piggot ran her tongue around her teeth. "And the other two?"

" _Clockblocker may be irreverent, but that's what we need in this situation. He can make jokes on the fly, and keep things from getting too serious. And once again, he has an extremely potent defensive power. Gallant will be useful for keeping tabs on the emotional states of Zachary and the Hebert girl, and for guiding the conversation."_

Her plan almost sounded sensible, if it wasn't for the fact that it involved sending three _teenagers_ in to talk with a parahuman who had inflicted major injuries on a Ward and three other teens. The trouble was, Emily could not think of a serious alternative that would not cause more problems in the long run. _Gas the whole school? He may be immune, and he can throw grenades at bullet speed. Send in a capture team for the Hebert girl? Velocity already tried and failed, and if she gets hurt, it may send him berserk._ She rubbed at her temples, trying to elicit a better option through sheer willpower. None came.

She sighed in frustration. "Do it. Set it up so that I can hear the conversation in realtime, and impress upon them that if I issue a pull-back order, they are to obey _immediately._ Do you understand?"

Miss Militia's response was crisp, betraying none of the self-doubt that Emily knew she had to be feeling. _"Yes, Director. I understand perfectly."_

* * *

The three heroes exited the front doors of Winslow High. Armsmaster was subvocalising on his helmet radio, issuing orders. Ahead of them were several PRT vehicles, which Zachary and Taylor were approaching. PRT soldiers, in full body armour, stood around the vehicles.

Velocity stared at Hannah. "I thought -"

"- that I was going to advocate an attack?" she finished for him. "Well, that _was_ an option, and it still might be one, but when I heard her response, I knew she wouldn't go for it. So I went with Plan B."

"Which is to talk them down." The doubt was clear in his voice.

"Does it matter how it's done, so long as the threat is removed?"

He grimaced. "I'd like to say yes, but the safety of civilians comes first."

"Including the safety of Taylor Hebert," Hannah reminded him. "She's the victim in all this, remember."

"So _she_ says," he replied.

"All the evidence points that way," she said. "Now, I don't know what Brute rating this Zachary has, or why he's decided to help her, but he seems to be predicating all of his actions around her safety. Which is _another_ reason why we should not be harming her."

"She told him that he's allowed to hurt us." He didn't sound happy at that.

"Only if we attack him. And she specifically told him not to kill anyone."

He frowned. "I'm led to wonder why she was so careful about making that requirement."

She smiled sadly. "My first act as a parahuman was to kill a man. I'm just glad she's not taking that path." She looked up. "Oh, that idiot. Armsmaster!"

* * *

I looked at the PRT vehicles. They really were very big and bulky. So were the PRT troopers in front of them. "Maybe we should walk around."

"No, Taylor," Zach said brightly. "We have chosen to walk in this direction. This is a public thoroughfare. They have parked in our way and are trying to deliberately obstruct us. This is a bullying tactic. I will not allow them to do this to us."

"Okay, but you're not allowed to hurt them."

"If they do not try to harm you, then I will not hurt them." Zach's voice was serene. "I will not allow anyone to hurt you ever again."

"I don't think it works that way," I muttered. I raised my voice to address the PRT troopers. "Uh, guys? If you could just, you know, move the vehicles a bit? We want to walk through, and Zach doesn't like taking detours."

The troopers looked at each other, then back at me. I wondered what they were thinking, but before I could think too deeply about it, someone came cartwheeling over the hood of the nearest vehicle and landed with a light thump in front of us. I might have jumped, just a little, and let out a squeak of fright. Just a little one, really. Hardly there at all. Before it had made its way out of my throat, before I even knew that he had moved, Zach was standing directly in front of me.

"Well, hello," Assault greeted us cheerfully. "I presume you're Zachary, and the lady behind you is Taylor Hebert?"

"That is true," agreed Zachary. "You are standing in our way. Please step aside, so that we may continue."

Assault shook his head. "I don't think so, son." A more serious tone entered his voice. "You've hurt people. That's kind of against the law."

Having recognised Assault, I figured it had to be Battery in the white and grey costume, decorated with blue circuit-board lines, who stepped out from behind one of the vehicles.

"I have hurt people who hurt Taylor," Zach said in the same cheerful tone. "I will continue to hurt people who try to hurt Taylor. Taylor does not want me to hurt you. If you do not provoke me, then I will not hurt you. Please step aside."

"Well, as much as I appreciate seeing the big names step back from a teenage boy," Assault declared, "you _did_ hurt kids. That's kind of a thing with me. So you're not going anywhere."

"Actually," I told him, "we are. We're getting on the bus and I'm going home. Because I am _over_ this day." My voice was beginning to rise and become shriller, but I didn't care. "I've gone to my shithole of a school, been shoved into _another_ shithole by my ex-best friend, been _saved_ by the only person apart from my Dad who seems to care for my wellbeing, and now the fucking _superheroes_ want to arrest him!" By now I was shouting, but my care factor was zero. "So why don't you just _fuck off_ already?"

He shook his head. "Bus isn't coming, kid. Transit Authority's been alerted. No buses into a cape conflict zone." A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Though I have to admit, this is the first time I've ever seen someone try to leave a cape battle by _bus."_

I took a deep breath but before I could shout at him some more, Zach intervened. "Taylor, you are becoming agitated. This is not good." He turned to Assault. "You are harming Taylor emotionally. You will step out of the way. _Now."_

Battery stepped forward. "Uh, you _can_ hear Armsmaster telling you to back off, right?" Figuring that she wasn't talking to me or Zach, I glanced over my shoulder at where both Armsmaster and Miss Militia were standing at a discreet distance. As I watched, Armsmaster made a cut-off gesture across his throat.

"No." It was Assault's voice. Looking forward, I saw him set his jaw. "He doesn't get to just walk away." He leaned forward and grinned at Zach. It wasn't a friendly sort of grin. "There's something I've been wanting to try out for a while, and you're just asking for it." And then he launched himself not at Zach, but _backward,_ at the vehicle behind him.

I knew enough about the Protectorate to be aware that Assault's powers involved the control and redirection of kinetic energy. But knowing it and seeing it are two different things. When Assault hit the vehicle, he bounced forward, faster than he should have been able to do. He slammed into Zach and rebounded off of him, causing me to gasp and step back, but Zach himself didn't move an inch. Moving even faster now, Assault hit the vehicle and ricocheted forward at Zach once more.

After that, he was bouncing back and forth between Zach and the vehicle faster than I could follow with my eyes; the _clangclangclang_ of him hitting the van was one continuous metallic ringing. And Zach never moved at all. Until he did.

What happened next was too fast to see. I _thought_ that Zach's arm blurred forward in Assault's general direction, but I couldn't be certain. There was a resounding crash and the PRT vehicle was slammed around to the side. It now bore a dent the same shape and size as Assault's body, the hero himself a mere dot in the distance, which I quickly lost sight of even as I tried to keep track of him.

"What the hell?" demanded Battery. "What did you do to him?"

"I have done no permanent damage to him," Zach said cheerfully. "I merely added a large amount of kinetic energy to his store. He must dissipate it all before he can stop moving."

"Yes, but where _is_ he?" asked Miss Militia. "We only have your word that he's all right."

"He will bounce off the Protectorate headquarters force-field in just a moment," Zach explained, "which will give him a southward trajectory. I estimate that he will land in the Charles River in about fifteen minutes."

Armsmaster's hand suddenly went to the side of his helmet. "Say that again," he said tersely.

"I said -" began Zach.

"Not _you,"_ interrupted Armsmaster. "Repeat please, Control."

"Why fifteen minutes?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"That is the time that it would take to ascend to thirty thousand feet and descend once more, in a safe and controlled manner," he informed me. "By the time he reaches ground level once more, he should have exhausted the excess kinetic energy."

"The Charles River," Battery repeated. "That's in _Boston."_

"Yes." Zach did not need to elaborate.

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "The Protectorate base just took a hit which shorted out all of the force-field generators. They are now tracking a fast-moving object, heading southward in a ballistic arc. Projected impact point is … huh. Boston."

"That is what I said," agreed Zach.

Velocity looked stunned. "Did you just punch Assault into the next _state?"_ His voice was just a little strangled.

"Could've been worse," I offered, trying not to laugh. "If we'd been facing west, Zach could've punched him into the next time zone."

"Now is not the time for levity, young lady," Armsmaster told me severely.

"Well, I might as well laugh," I told him to his face. "Because this situation's so fucking ridiculous that I've got to either laugh or cry. And I've done enough crying, _thank_ you very much."

"Do not make Taylor cry," Zach warned him. "If you do, I will take away your weapon."

"Oh, don't do _that,"_ I told Zach. "If you do, _he_ might cry. And I don't think I could take seeing a grown man cry, right now."

I was only joking, kind of, but I was also glad that Armsmaster was only a Tinker. If he'd had any sort of laser death beams from his eyes, I would've been in serious peril. _That_ was how hard he was glaring at me.

"This has gone far enough," he gritted, grinding his teeth. I wondered how often he saw his orthodontist; the man had to be making a small fortune off of him. "I advise you to submit voluntarily to custody."

"Well, you're half right," I announced. "It's gone far enough. In fact, it passed the 'far enough' stage about a _year_ ago, when absolutely nothing _continued_ to get done by the school about my bullying, despite repeated complaints. And 'nothing' is _still_ what's being done, only this time by the superheroes. Oh, wait, _worse_ than nothing. Because you're _still_ trying to arrest the only guy who's shown the slightest willingness to _be_ a superhero and help me."

An embarrassed silence fell at that point; I didn't give a shit any more. "Come on, Zach," I told him, grabbing his hand. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

"I do not see a popsicle stand," Zach observed. "I presume that you are using a figure of speech. The context indicates that you want to leave the area." He didn't resist as I pulled him along.

"You got that right," I agreed.

"Where are we going, Taylor?" he asked.

I lowered my voice, in the (possibly vain) hope that none of the nearby capes could hear me. "Home," I murmured. "I just want to curl up on the couch and watch TV and eat ice-cream." Though they probably had my home address by now, and could probably beat me there.

"Ice cream on its own is not an adequate food source, Taylor," he told me seriously. "It is advisable to ingest a balanced meal first."

"Don't care," I retorted. "Ice cream therapy is a thing."

"I understand, Taylor." His tone never stopped being cheerful. "Sometimes, we must do things that are a little bit bad for us to feel better about ourselves."

"Huh. I never thought about it like that before." By now, we were well past the dented van and walking along the pavement away from Winslow. Behind us, I couldn't hear what the heroes were saying to each other, but I imagined that it was along the lines of 'are we just going to let them walk away?'

They didn't chase after us, not immediately. I suspected that they knew that Zach wouldn't punch any of them all the way to Boston, but they weren't taking any chances.

Which raised an interesting question. "Zach, you said that you added kinetic energy to Assault. How did you do that?"

His tone was earnest. "I applied kinetic energy, and manipulated his power to absorb it. The recoil is what sent him away."

"Wait, you manipulated his power?" I stared at him. "So you _are_ a cape."

"No, Taylor." His voice was as patient as ever. "I am not a fashion accessory."

"What's that -" I pulled myself up. "Oh, ha ha. Funny joke. I meant a parahuman."

"I was not joking, Taylor," he said. "I do not know how to make a joke. Neither am I a parahuman."

"But you have powers!" I exclaimed. "You're really strong, and you can manipulate other peoples' powers!"

"Yes, I have powers," he agreed.

"Which makes you a parahuman," I insisted. "A person with powers is a parahuman."

"It would if I were human," he explained. "But I am not. Therefore, even though I possess powers, I do not fit the definition of a parahuman."

"Wait, what?" Looking at him, the contention was utterly ridiculous. He was as human as anyone. Definitely as human as me, maybe even more human than Emma and her friends. I shook my head. _No, that's just unbelievable. He's just playing with my head._ "Hah, you nearly had me," I told him with a grin. "But I'm sorry. That one's just not gonna fly. Not human, my skinny white butt."

"I believe that if I were to make any sort of comment regarding your butt, it would probably be taken as rude, and rightly so," he observed. _Wow, he can learn after all._ "So I will not."

I took hold of his arm and hugged it to my side. "Thank you, Zach. You're a real gentleman." I paused. "But your sense of humour does need work. You really don't know how to tell a joke?"

"I could tell one if it were told to me," he pointed out. "But I would not know what made it funny."

"Ah." I thought about that. "Okay, then. Jokes consist mainly of setting up an expectation in the mind of the listener, and then delivering a punchline that changes the entire context of the situation."

He tilted his head. "I believe that I may require an example to apply to that explanation."

I nodded. "All right. Og the caveman says to Zug the caveman, 'I just saw a sabre-toothed tiger go into your mother-in-law's cave.' Zug says, 'So what? What do I care about what happens to a sabre-toothed tiger?'"

Zach tilted his head slightly. "I presume the previous context is that I am supposed to be concerned for the mother-in-law, but then I learn that she is much more formidable than a sabre-toothed tiger. Humour makes use of misdirection. I think I understand."

I grinned. "Yup. Or there's this one. It's a riddle. Why do firemen wear big red suspenders?"

"Hm." Zach seemed to consider the question carefully. "Is it perhaps to do with the fact that fire engines are red as well, as an identification marker?"

Chuckling, I shook my head. "No. The answer is 'to keep their trousers up'."

His face cleared, and he smiled broadly. "I understand. I really do. The misdirection is in the colour of the suspenders. I believe I can see the humour in that."

I decided not to tell him that explaining a joke took all the fun out of it. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and that was what mattered. In the meantime, it was a nice day and I was enjoying walking along with his hand in mine.

I had no idea why Zach had decided that his job was to protect me, but I had little in the way of complaints about the way that he had gone about it. He was adamant that I was to be protected, and that made me feel warm inside, in a way that I hadn't for a very long time.

"I have a riddle for you, Taylor," Zach announced suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.

"Really?" I asked. "What is it?" I decided that whatever he said, I was going to laugh. He was making the effort, and he deserved to be rewarded for it.

Zach cleared his throat and spoke. "Why did the fireman wear green suspenders?"

I blinked. This was actually something I couldn't figure out. "Okay, I give in. Why _did_ the fireman wear green suspenders?"

Was that a look of smugness on his face, however slight? "Because he accidentally left his red suspenders at home that day."

"Heh." I had told myself I would laugh, but I didn't need the reminder. "Heh heh heh. That's funny. I like it."

His earnest gaze searched my face. "That was actually funny? You are not merely saying that, Taylor?"

I squeezed his hand. "It is actually funny, Zach," I assured him, still chuckling. "You got the misdirection perfectly."

"It was not very funny, though," he observed. "You did not laugh very much."

"Well, no, but the jokes I told weren't very funny either," I pointed out. "They're pretty old, and they'll only get a laugh once from any one person. It's the surprise factor, you see."

"I believe that I understand," he agreed. "Misdirection rarely works twice in the same way."

I became aware of two vehicles approaching. Given that the road had been suspiciously clear of traffic for the last few minutes, I had little doubt that these were not casual road users.

One was coming from in front of us, while the other approached from behind. Looking back, I saw Armsmaster's cycle coming up to us at a steady pace, slowing as he neared us. Ahead was a PRT van, moving toward the curb as I watched.

"Don't attack anyone unless they show hostile intent to either of us," I warned Zach. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt today. And that includes you."

"I will not get hurt, Taylor," he assured me. And to be honest, given what I had seen of his capabilities, I tended to believe his words. "And I will endeavour not to hurt anyone else. But if they look as though they can hurt you unless I hurt them first, then I will have to hurt them. I am sorry, but that is the way it has to be."

I nodded. "I understand, Zach. Even if you have to hurt someone, try not to kill anyone."

"I know that you do not want me to kill anyone, so I will not do that," he assured me.

The PRT van pulled over to the curb, albeit on the wrong side of the road, and came to a halt. Armsmaster powered up alongside us, though in the far lane, and pulled up next to the van. As he got off the bike, the side door of the van opened and three costumed teens got out.

I was pretty sure that these were members of the Wards, given that they did not wear New Wave's distinctive costumes. The girl was about two years younger than me, and had on a blue-green costume with a skirt and a visor. One of the boys had a full body white costume with clocks all over it, while the other – I presumed he was a boy – wore grey armour with highlights gleaming off of it, very reminiscent of a knight of old.

Racking my brain, I was pretty sure that I knew who they were. "Vista, Clockblocker and Gallant," I ventured. "Or at least I think so."

"That is who they are," Zach confirmed. "Each of them has offensive capability. Do you want me to neutralise them?"

Hastily, I shook my head. "No, no. Let's just see what they want first."

"They want you to voluntarily enter custody," he reminded me. "That has already been made clear."

"Just let me do the talking to them, okay?" I didn't want to start a fight, and I didn't want a thoughtless remark by Zach starting one, either.

"Yes, Taylor," he agreed. "I will not speak to the Wards without your permission."

Which was a _little_ more than I'd meant, but I left it alone. "Thanks."

The PRT soldier who had driven the van stayed in the vehicle. _Good._ Armsmaster stood alongside it, his halberd still racked on his back – _bad and good –_ with the three Wards flanking him. I opened my mouth to ask them to step aside, but Zach spoke first.

"Armsmaster!" he called out. _Oh, shit. Don't provoke him._ "I have a riddle for you."

That got _everyone's_ attention, including mine. I had no idea what the Wards were thinking of that.

"What?" asked the head of the Protectorate ENE. "A _riddle?_ Is this some kind of joke to you?"

"I am learning how to tell jokes. This is the riddle. Why did the fireman wear blue suspenders to work?"

Armsmaster stared back at him. A long, tense moment passed. "I don't know," he grunted.

The flicker of Zach's smile was almost too fast for me to see. "Because he lost his green suspenders," he explained.

There was another long pause, during which time I began to chuckle. When Armsmaster spoke, his voice was puzzled. "I don't get it."

"Don't worry, I do," I managed to say between giggles.

"When we get the chance," Zach added kindly, "I will explain it to you."

I thought I caught a snort of laughter from one of the Wards. Neither Gallant nor Vista was smiling, so I figured that it was Clockblocker.

I indicated the Wards barring our path. "Okay," I said, "so what's this?"

* * *

Dean groaned mentally when Clockblocker snorted with laughter. _Be professional, damn it,_ he wanted to tell his teammate. Even though Vista had swirls of humour washing through her aura, she was managing not to smile, despite being years younger than Dennis.

"Okay," the tall lanky girl said, indicating Dean and the others. "So what's this?"

They'd been brought up to speed on the way over. The girl was, as far as anyone knew, not a parahuman. Her name was Taylor Hebert, she was a sophomore at Winslow High.

The boy's name was Zachary. He was not a Winslow student. He _was_ a parahuman, with tentative ratings of Brute 8 or higher, and possibly Mover. So far, no background checks had been able to bring anything up on him under that name or powerset. There had been no known contact between him and Taylor Hebert before this day.

There had been a brief rundown on the situation to this point. Zachary was known to be extremely protective of Taylor, so under no circumstance were they to attack her. Four teenagers had been injured by him, possibly as a retaliation for bullying actions taken toward her. There had then been a confrontation in the cafeteria, which had ended inconclusively. Outside, the pair had been confronted by Assault (acting against orders) which had ended … bizarrely.

* * *

His first view of Taylor Hebert and her aura did not make him overly optimistic of resolving it peacefully. She had so much hurt inside her, extending so deep, that it was practically _geological_ in nature. Bright sparks of hope were breaking it up, but they had so far to go that he wasn't sure she would ever be free of it. And some of the pain was transforming to anger, coming to the surface in a manner not dissimilar to magma in a volcanic vent. _If she ever truly blows her top … watch out._

Dean cleared his throat. "Miss Hebert, we've been asked to speak with you, and see if we can't bring this to a satisfactory conclusion."

From her aura, Taylor Hebert wasn't overly thrilled by the idea. As for her companion …

Dean blinked. _Okay, that's really weird. He's just not showing up._ Where Zachary was, was … a blank. He may as well have not been there at all.

Just as he was beginning to seriously wonder about that, Zach glanced over at him. A slight smile appeared to play over the boy's mouth, and then his emotions were on full view, just like everyone else's.

Before Dean could consider the ramifications of that, Taylor spoke. "Satisfactory for you or for me?"

"Yes," declared Clockblocker firmly.

Vista sighed slightly. "What he means is that we don't want this to get any worse. We don't want to fight. Can we talk?"

Taylor's jaw hardened. "Do I have a choice?"

Zachary spoke up. His voice was cheerful and bright, as if he were talking about a favourite movie. "You always have a choice, Taylor. We can keep walking, or you can talk. That is your choice. If they try to stop us, I will neutralise them. That is their choice."

Dean steeled himself not to react, even as Clockblocker tensed and Vista took half a step back – no, wait, she stretched space between them very slightly. "We're not attacking you," he reminded them.

"I don't want to fight, either," admitted Taylor. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt." Pausing, she turned toward Armsmaster. "So is there any word about Assault yet?"

The older hero nodded once. "They just fished him out of the Charles River. He'll be fine."

Taylor let out a tiny sigh; her aura swirled with relief. "Good. I'm glad."

"Wait, wait." That was Clockblocker. "You punched Assault so hard he bounced off the Protectorate base and landed in _Boston?_ And you were able to aim him at the _river?"_

"Yes, Clockblocker," Zachary answered promptly. "I believe that you call it a bank shot. It was not very difficult."

Clockblocker shook his head; his aura showed strong tones of disbelief. His voice was barely audible as he muttered, "Bullshit. Just bullshit."

"Ignore him," Dean advised them. "So, Taylor. Can I call you Taylor?"

Taylor shrugged, pretending indifference, although her aura showed signs of both trepidation and awe. "Might as well. Free country."

"Taylor, then." Dean did his best to sound friendly, unthreatening. "As you can see, we have a problem. I'd like your help in resolving it."

"I have a solution." She stared at him, her defiance only partly real. "You step aside, Zach and I walk home, you leave us alone, nobody else gets hurt. Problem solved."

"The trouble with that is people have been injured. The law requires that the guilty party be at least taken into custody. We would prefer this to happen with as little in the way of problems as possible." He looked at her hopefully, expecting more defiance, or perhaps acquiescence. What he didn't expect was triumph.

"Yeah, that's true. People have been hurt." She jabbed a thumb at her chest. " _Me_. I've been getting bullied for more than a year by those bitches. Today, they shoved me in my locker with the most horrible shit I've ever smelled. They _locked me in there."_ She took a step closer to him, anger bubbling up through the triumph. "So if you want to arrest someone for hurting someone else, arrest those three bitches for provoking Zach into protecting me. I'll even give you names -"

Armsmaster stirred. "That's not necessary. We have the names -"

She didn't even look around. "Shut the fuck up. I'm not talking to you. The names of the bitches are Emma Barnes. Madison Clements. And Sophia _fucking_ Hess. Arrest _them,_ not Zach.."

Clockblocker and Vista showed signs of shock, even as Dean felt the same emotion spark in his own brain. _Sophia Hess? Shadow Stalker? Does Armsmaster even know …_ He looked at Armsmaster, and saw resignation and irritation. _Shit. He knew, and he was holding out on us._

Still, he had to be sure. "You're certain about these people. Certain that they're specifically the ones who did this to you?"

"Yes," Zach stated flatly. "I saw it. Sophia pushed Taylor into the locker. Emma locked it. Madison watched and laughed. Then they tried to stop me from getting to the locker so that I could let Taylor out."

 _Fuck. This is a lot more complicated than I was led to believe._ From the auras of the other two Wards, they felt the same way. "I … did not know that."

"Well, you know it now." Taylor stared at him challengingly. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Dean had heard about 'no-win situations', but he'd never been placed into one until now. _If she's telling the truth – and her aura says she is – then we, as the Wards, have fucked up massively. Attacking Zach right now would be amazingly unwise, as well as being totally unjust._

 _But if we just let her walk away, that makes the Wards look bad, too._

 _No matter what I do, I'm screwed._

It was Vista who saved him. "Taylor, what are your plans right now?"

Taylor turned to look at her. "Right now? Walk home. Get there eventually. Have something to eat. Why?"

Vista was nothing if not persistent. "Do you plan on committing any crimes, or allowing Zach to commit any?"

The tall lanky girl snorted. "Pfft, no. Zach, you're not going to commit any crimes, are you?"

"No, Taylor. I do not intend to commit any crimes." The effect was spoiled slightly when he went on. "Unless you tell me to."

"No." Taylor shook her head. "If you committed crimes, that would make me unhappy."

"I will not commit any crimes." Zach's voice was definitive. "Unless helping you forces me to commit a crime. Then I will commit a crime, but I will apologise afterward."

With a wry twist to her mouth, and a streak of humour running through her aura, Taylor turned back to Vista. "I guess that's the best you're gonna get."

"Thank you." Vista turned to Gallant; he caught the wash of longing in her aura, but did his best to ignore it. "Gallant, what do you think?" _Is she telling the truth?_

Dean had seen Taylor's aura. There had been no deception involved in what she said. Or, for that matter, in Zachary's aura. He took a deep breath, making a palm-out gesture to Taylor and Zachary. "Can we just … discuss things for a moment?"

Taylor's brows drew down. "How long is a moment?"

"Uh, five minutes? Tops? And then we'll figure out what to do. I promise."

She pressed her lips together. "You've got four minutes."

"Thank you." Gallant stepped back, gesturing for the others to come with him.

Armsmaster ignored the gesture, remaining there obdurately.

"Sir?" Dean asked.

Armsmaster glanced around. "What?"

"Um, we need to discuss that important issue? The one that won't wait?"

"This isn't the time -"

Dean could read Armsmaster's desire not to talk about it, but this only fuelled his determination. "Sir, if not now, when? This is very relevant to the situation at hand."

Armsmaster could have been carved from stone.

"Or, you know," Clockblocker added cheerfully, "we could just talk about it in front of them. That's probably easier."

Dean could have hugged the white-costumed jokester. He'd struck _exactly_ the right note needed to break the impasse; lips pressed to a razor-thin line, Armsmaster turned toward them. The older hero took one step, then turned his head to address Taylor and Zach. "Don't move."

"Oh, we're not going anywhere," Taylor agreed, then ostentatiously checked her watch. "For another three minutes and thirty seconds, anyway."

They moved down the pavement until Dean figured that they were out of casual earshot of the pair. For all he knew, Zach could hear a pin drop in Chicago, but there was such a thing as being _too_ paranoid. "Okay then. Sir. _Seriously?"_

Armsmaster's voice was hard and cold. "Be very careful, Gallant. I'm still your commanding officer."

"I understand that, sir," Dean agreed. "What I don't understand is why you saw fit to hold something that – that _significant_ back from us. Talking to them, I get it. Making us look _stupid_ by not telling us everything? Did you _want_ us to fail?"

"The trouble is that it's very hard to compartmentalise information like that," Armsmaster stated flatly. "If we told you that Shadow Stalker had been injured, that would give you an erroneous view of the situation. If we amended that to the fact that she was in her civilian identity, and then you found out that Zachary's only victims were her alleged bullies …"

" … we would then find out what you were trying to keep from us anyway," Clockblocker finished for him. "But that's what I don't understand. _Why_ were you trying to keep it from us?"

"Because he didn't want us to be prejudiced in their favour when we were talking to them," Dean guessed. "I'm right, aren't I?" No answer was forthcoming, but the sourness in Armsmaster's aura spoke volumes.

"If you'd gotten away with it, what would you have done?" piped up Vista. "Just swept it under the carpet?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "No. We would have investigated, quietly, and just as quietly eased Shadow Stalker out of the spotlight."

"In other words, you would have _handled_ it," Clockblocker said, filling the word with derision.

"Well, I'm not surprised that she was doing it," Vista noted. "She was _mean."_

"Yeah." Clockblocker nodded. "You gotta admit, she's not a nice person. Even if she does have a nice -"

" _Do not finish that sentence."_ Wonder of wonders, Armsmaster's growl shut Clockblocker up.

"Okay then." Dean took a deep breath. "So one of ours bullied that girl – and unless she can fake her emotions better than _anyone ever,_ it's definitely true – to the point where some random Brute pops up out of the blue to save her."

"And then, just to make things even _better_ ," Clockblocker put in, "we decide to attack the actual hero of the piece. The guy who _saved_ her."

"And Assault gets punched all the way to _Boston,"_ put in Vista. "Just in case we didn't look stupid enough already."

"I still think that's bullshit," Clockblocker muttered. "Okay, so what do we do about it?"

Just then, something passed overhead, with a fading "Woohoooooo" noise trailing after it. Everyone looked around to see a vaguely human-shaped dot, airborne, disappearing into the middle distance.

"Wait," Dean blurted. "He can _fly?_ Nobody said that he could fly."

"I don't think he's flying," Vista said carefully. "It looks like a ballistic arc."

"Vista is correct." Armsmaster agreed absently. "He's jumping."

Dean blinked. "How _far_ is he jumping?"

Vista rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'd guesstimate about half a mile?"

After a moment, Armsmaster nodded. "I concur."

Dean and Clockblocker looked back to where the two had been standing; there was only a pair of footprints, sunk about an inch into the concrete. "Bullshit," Clockblocker muttered. "Just bullshit."

* * *

End of Part Three


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

Part Four: Shortlisted

* * *

 _[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]_

 _[A/N 2: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt.]_

* * *

Director Piggot paused the playback and ran her fingers up over her scalp. For a moment, she wanted to tear handfuls of hair from her head; she suspected that it would much less painful than watching the replay from Armsmaster's helmet cam. But then she'd still have the rest of the playback to watch anyway.

For a moment, she eyed the mouse pad. _If I put that in front of me on the desk, I could bang my forehead against it without leaving a bruise._ It was tempting.

She already knew the outcome of the encounter, of course. But the foreknowledge didn't make watching the slow-motion trainwreck any easier. It was akin to watching a horror movie and knowing that the friendly, likeable characters would be the first to be eaten.

 _I have to watch this. If only so that I know exactly how much of their asses I'm going to have to chew off._ Bracing herself, she restarted the playback. Assault's little trick made her blink, but what really got her attention was the fact that Zachary didn't budge an inch while it was happening.

Pausing the playback, she called up the earlier file and ran it through to a certain point. Slowing it down to half speed, she watched attentively as Armsmaster slammed the haft of his halberd against Zachary's chest; there was a loud POP and the teenage boy was jolted back a step. But in the current file, where Assault was almost certainly hitting him with even more kinetic energy than that, Zachary wasn't moving at all. _What does it mean?_

Her phone rang, interrupting her musing. Without looking aside from the replay, she snagged it. "Director's office. Piggot speaking."

" _Emily, hello."_

She recognised the voice as that of the Director of the Boston contingent of the PRT; pausing the replay, she turned her attention to the phone call. "Armstrong. This is about Assault?"

" _It is."_ The relief in his voice clued her in. _"He's alive, if a bit stunned from the experience. Personally, I'm astonished that he survived the experience at all, even with his powerset, but they say he doesn't even have any broken bones."_

Emily didn't know how she really felt about that. Assault had just proven himself to be the loosest of loose cannons, but she didn't want the man to _die_ for it. At least, not until she got to strangle him herself. "Good. Keep him there for observation, please. I don't want something unexpected to crop up while he's away from potential medical attention."

" _We can definitely do that. Oh, and we got footage of his arrival, if you're interested."_

That _really_ got her attention. "Yes, please."

" _Emailing it right now."_

"Thank you."

" _You're welcome. Is it true a teenage kid did this?"_

"In a manner of speaking. Assault went against orders. He obviously thought he could take him."

" _Well, I'm just glad he survived."_

" _He_ won't be." Her voice was grim. "That could have gone far, far worse. People could have died. And all so that he could showboat. I do _not_ allow this sort of thing to fly."

" _So to speak."_ He chuckled. _"Well, I'll leave you to it."_

"Goodbye." Emily put the phone down without waiting for an answer. Minimising the window that was playing the helmet camera footage, she opened her secure email server. Nothing had shown up yet, so she clicked up the footage again.

She watched it until Assault disappeared into the distance, then clicked back a few seconds and ran it through at the lowest speed possible. Even with the impressively high frame-rate of Armsmaster's helmet-camera, the sheer speed of Zachary's arm as it came up made most of the movement into a blur. However, at the point of impact, it was possible to watch the apparent teenager (she was taking nothing for granted about this) almost casually deliver a palm-strike to Assault's sternum. She looked at the numbers scrolling up along the side, where the helmet had locked on to Assault's dwindling form with a rangefinder. Something odd about the progression nagged at her. Picking up the phone, she stabbed a number in it, still watching Assault recede into the distance in slow motion.

" _Peterson here,"_ she heard. _"What can I do for you, Director?"_

"I'm going to send you some footage," she replied. "There's something odd about it. I want you to analyse the movement of everything in the picture."

" _Yes, ma'am,"_ he said at once. _"What's the priority?"_

"High but not urgent," she decided. "I'd like to know, but don't bump anything life-threatening."

" _Understood, ma'am,"_ he said. _"We'll let you know what we get."_

"Good." She put the phone down and set about sending the footage on its way. Just as she clicked SEND, her computer chimed; at the bottom corner of her screen, an alert popped up for an incoming mail.

She paused to check that she had indeed sent the right footage to Peterson, then opened her inbox. The latest message was tagged as being from Armstrong; to her relief, it had an attachment. With a certain sense of anticipation, she clicked on it.

Moments later, she was watching footage taken from what seemed to be a shoulder-cam. It was a little shaky, but she was pleased to see that the time-stamp was running smoothly all the way through. The camera looked at an expanse of water, which she assumed was the Charles River, then panned up to the buildings on the other side of the water. There was an indistinct shout from offscreen, and the image blurred unpleasantly for an instant. Then it tilted upward and focused, zooming automatically. A tiny dot resolved into a blurry outline, sharpening more every second. The image stabilised, not growing any larger, though it kept gaining detail. A glance at the top of the screen showed the zoom counter scrolling backward almost faster than the numbers could register. It was definitely Assault; she could identify the costume with ease. He seemed to be trailing streamers of vapour, which she decided to ask about later. Despite her irritation with him, she had to admire his aplomb; he was in the spread-eagle position for skydiving, intended to reduce his terminal velocity by as much as possible. Not that she considered this to be something to be realistically worried about, given that he'd just been punched from Brockton Bay to Boston. Just for an instant, she felt a stab of jealousy; over the last few years, she'd lost count of the number of times she wanted to smack Assault into the next county.

Abruptly, the image pulled back, bringing the water and the buildings back into view. Assault was a tiny man-shaped dot, now approaching once more with shocking speed. He was also pulling in his arms and legs, leaning forward into a dive. Almost before Emily could blink, he lanced down into the river, sending up a tremendous splash that almost reached the shore. Boats pulled out from the shore before the waves had quieted down, moving toward the epicentre of the water entry. The soldier with the camera was on one of the boats; as the unsteady image moved forward, an arm pointed and the viewpoint swivelled to focus on … Assault. Floating in the water, face-up, arms and legs spread once more, for all the world as if he were taking a morning dip in his costume.

The boat motored up alongside Assault, who was starting to move a little; a man in a wetsuit went over the side and steadied him in the water. Next, a stretcher was dropped into the water and the diver guided it under Assault, carefully moving his arms and legs on to it. Once he was strapped on, his head and neck immobilised and a breathing mask attached to his face, they began to tow him to shore. He seemed to be responding more now; the camera audio caught snatches of speech. "How are you feeling?" asked a paramedic, leaning over the side of the boat to prod his arms and legs.

"I just got bitch-slapped fifty miles by a teenager," replied Assault dreamily. "How's your day been? Tell my wife I'm okay, thanks? If I make her worry, she'll find out how he did it, and do it again. Imma catch a nap now. Kaythanksbye." Behind the visor, his eyes drifted shut; the paramedic checked his throat pulse and gave a thumbs' up.

The clip ended there, and Emily immediately ran it again. Like Armsmaster's helmet cam, this one incorporated a rangefinder; again, she frowned as she looked at the progression of the numbers. Something seemed subtly off. Pursing her lips, she sent the footage off to Peterson, with a curt note: _Check this too._

Then she sighed and went back to the job of keeping her corner of the PRT running smoothly. It was an utterly thankless task, but someone had to do it.

* * *

 **Taylor**

* * *

I watched, with just little concern, as Armsmaster reluctantly went into a huddle with the Wards. "What do you think they're talking about?" I asked uneasily.

"I do not know," Zach said in his usual cheerful tone. "Armsmaster wishes to take me into custody but does not know how. Part of his strategy may be to separate you from me, before bringing more force into play. I will not allow him to do this."

"Good," I said firmly. So many people had worked at screwing me over ever since Mom died. Zach was the first person who both actually cared for me and was able to do something about it. I didn't care _how_ badly he embarrassed the Protectorate, so long as this trend continued. "Just remember, I don't care if you hurt his feelings, but don't do anything fatal to _him,_ okay?"

He smiled at me. "I remember that you do not want me to kill people, Taylor. I will not do anything that will kill people, unless that is the only way to prevent them from causing you injury."

Hearing him reaffirm that made me feel better. I really hoped that nobody would do anything stupid. Zach was … well, for a normal person, he was pretty damn talented. He said he wasn't a cape, and I believed him. Every instinct also told me that he was just an ordinary person caught in an extraordinary situation, like me. But he'd shown himself able to defend the both of us really effectively.

Armsmaster was still talking to the Wards; the costumes made it hard to tell body language, but it looked to me that they were arguing. I checked my watch. "Nearly five minutes," I said to Zach. "If they don't let us go past, please don't hurt the kids. They're only doing what they're told."

"Understood," he said with a nod. "I will not hurt children. However, I do have a way of getting past that does not involve directly engaging with them."

I looked at him curiously. "How's that?" He didn't like to bend to someone else's will; that much, I had already gathered. _Except mine; how does that even work?_

He smiled brightly at me. "Do you trust me, Taylor?"

Taken aback, I blinked a little. "Uh … sure. Of course. You've been nothing short of amazing." A moment later, my natural suspicion kicked in. "Why?"

His smile widened. "I think I will make it a surprise."

Before I could respond, his head came up. "It has been almost five minutes. We will be leaving now." To my astonishment, he bent and scooped me up in his arms, bridal-style. I muffled my yelp of surprise; of course, he held me with total ease. He had already shown me that he was pretty strong; idly, I wondered if he worked out.

"Are you ready?" he asked, bending his legs slightly.

I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be ready for, but I nodded. "Sure," I said.

In the next instant, I found out. He kicked off, and I felt the rush of wind as we rocketed into the sky. Grabbing Zach around the neck, I hung on tight, even though I felt totally secure in his arms. "Woohoo!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. A little more quietly, I gasped out, "You never said you could _fly."_

"I cannot fly, Taylor," he said. "But I can jump really well. Landing now." A moment later, there was a slight jar, accompanied by the crunch of gravel. He let me down on to the concrete sidewalk, and I looked around with some amazement.

"Wow, you can really jump a long way," I marvelled. "We must be nearly halfway home."

"I do not know where your home is," he admitted. "You will have to show me."

It never crossed my mind to worry about showing Zach where I lived. "Sure, no problem," I said. "I have _so_ got to introduce you to Dad. I mean, I know you're still a teenager, but I'm pretty sure he could get you a job if you wanted."

"But I _have_ a job, Taylor," he said. "Protecting you. There are many harmful things in the world, and I have to make sure nothing hurts you or makes you unhappy."

The warm feeling his words caused in my heart overflowed, and I felt the blush mounting my cheeks. "That has got to be the single sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," I said softly. "Are you _certain_ that you're not in love with me?"

"I am certain, Taylor." He smiled at me; a simple, genuine smile that gave me shivers all the way down to the toes. "Love is irrational. What I feel for you is genuine and rational. You are to be protected and assisted."

"You realise I might want to do some things myself," I pointed out. "I'm not a delicate china doll, after all."

"Of course," he agreed at once. "You are a human being, with all the free will and capacity to use it that implies. I do not intend to take away your ability to exert your free will. I _do_ intend to ensure that nobody else takes it away either. If you say you wish to do something, then I will do my best to ensure that you get the chance to do it."

"Right." I paused. "No threatening or hurting people to make sure I get what I want."

He nodded. "I will not threaten or hurt people to make sure you get what you want. Unless there is no other way to achieve that, or your well-being is threatened. After all, you wish to remain healthy and unhurt, correct?"

"Oh, right." His example made sense. And he wasn't just blindly following my orders, either, which made me feel better. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"That is good." He gave me the smile again, the one that told me I was the most special person in the world. "Do you wish to walk the rest of the way home, or would you like to essay another jump? I believe that the PRT is close behind us now."

 _Can't they just leave well enough alone?_ "Yeah, I think I'd like to jump again. Whoop!" This time, I didn't muffle my involuntary exclamation fast enough as he picked me up. "Wow, you're _strong."_

"You are not very heavy, Taylor." His voice was matter-of-fact. "It is very easy to lift you."

Somehow, I knew that he wasn't making fun of how skinny I was. "Thank you, Zach," I replied, and pointed. "Home's that way, I think."

"Brace yourself," he said. I braced myself. He leaped.

"Woooooooohoooooooo!"

* * *

"That's my house, there." I pointed ahead of us as we walked down the street. My estimate of 'halfway home' had been a little generous, and my directions hadn't been exactly precise. It took a dozen jumps, plus three to backtrack, before we got close enough to walk. After all, I didn't think Dad would be very happy if we made a hole in the roof.

Due to my poor sense of direction, we were coming up on it from the back. I opened the chain-link gate and let us through into the back yard, then closed it behind us. Zach looked at the house with interest as I led the way to the back door. "It is a nice house, Taylor," he said.

"Thanks, Zach," I replied as I took my key from my pocket. Opening the back door, I led the way into the house; as Zach closed the door behind him, I flipped on the lights in the kitchen. "Whoof!" I exclaimed as I sat down on one of the dining chairs. "What a morning."

Zach came up behind me. "Are you all right, Taylor?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"Sure, I'm fine." I waved him to a chair. "Sit down. I'm just catching my breath. Things've been going way faster than I was ready for."

He sat down; just for a moment, the chair creaked alarmingly, but then he shifted position slightly and the creaking ceased. I wondered if it had a rotten leg. Then I looked at Zach; this was the first good look I'd had at him since the cafeteria. At the time, I'd been still a little shocky from the locker. But the food really had done me a lot of good.

He was a little taller than me, and a bit broader in the shoulders. While he wasn't grotesquely bulky like a bodybuilder, I could definitely appreciate the fact that he had muscles on his muscles, especially since he'd left his shirt behind at Winslow. His hair was straight and black, and looked adorably tousled; under it, his expression was calm and a little solemn. While he didn't have drop-dead gorgeous looks, he was definitely better looking than most guys who went to Winslow, and far better looking than any guy who had ever shown me attention before. In fact, every teenage boy I knew (which, when it came down to it, amounted to Greg Veder) would scream 'unfair' to see his acne-free skin.

"Okay," I said. "Your name is Zach. Do you have a surname?"

He shook his head. "Sophia did not give me one."

"Wait." I frowned at him. _"Sophia_ gave you the name Zachary?"

"Yes." His tone was direct and honest. "I did not have a name before that."

This was getting more confusing by the second. "What? Why?"

"Because I did not need one."

"How could you not need a name?" I felt like I'd walked into a movie halfway through. Nothing was making any sense.

"I had not yet been given my current form."

I had no idea how to even take that. "Current form? What do you mean, current form?"

"I was formed to protect you, Taylor." He looked me dead in the eye as he spoke utter nonsense. "I am an Endbringer."

I blinked; the silence was so complete that I literally heard my eyelids hit each other. Zach looked blandly at me, and I stared back in total incomprehension, trying to fit what he'd just said into some logical framework. Then I burst out laughing as I realised what was going on.

"Oh, god," I giggled, trying desperately not to fall off of my chair. "Oh, wow, Zach. That was amazing. I can't believe I nearly fell for that. Oh, man, I can't wait to tell Dad that one." I deepened my voice to somewhere near Zach's level. _"I'm really an Endbringer."_ Tears ran down my face as I laughed even harder. "And-and you said you-you didn't get humour!" Sliding off the chair, I lay on the floor, giggling helplessly and pounding my fist on the linoleum-covered floorboards. "Oh, god. That's _beautiful."_

"I am pleased that you think so," Zach said, a small smile crossing his face. "Are you feeling well, Taylor?"

"Uh huh." I sat up, still smirking. "I think I really needed that. But don't take this wrong when I say wow, that's the silliest story I ever heard. Really an Endbringer? Oh, man. Who'd ever believe that?" Climbing to my feet, I leaned over and gave him a hug from behind. "Look, I'm gonna go take a shower, and change into something that actually fits me. I'll find one of Dad's shirts for you, too." Because while I had been able to ignore his extremely masculine chest muscles to this point, I didn't want to forget myself and say or do something embarrassing.

Zach tilted his head. "You have already showered. Why do you feel the need to perform this task a second time?"

I took a deep breath, the smile slipping from my face. "Because sometimes you never feel really clean, even if you are. Does that make sense?"

His expression became more thoughtful. "I will ask my sister about that, but in the meantime, I will take your word for it. Do you require assistance showering or obtaining clothing?"

"Ah, no," I told him hastily. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself in my own house. You stay down here. Feel free to get a snack from the fridge or watch TV. Or both. I won't be long."

He nodded. "I understand, Taylor. I will remain downstairs. Call if you need help."

I smirked again. "Don't worry, if the bathroom attacks me, you'll be the first one I'll call." Chuckling to myself, I went through the living room and up the stairs. _Endbringer, indeed._ The very idea was ridiculous. Zach was as human as me or Dad. He just had a really weird sense of humour. Which was, to be honest, kind of growing on me. I _liked_ Zach. He wasn't creepy or pushy, and he hadn't stared at my chest even _once,_ which even though I didn't have much of one, still happened around guys.

The shower was nice. By the time I finished, I felt a bit cleaner and somewhat refreshed. As I got dressed, I could hear the TV playing faintly from below. It sounded like the news, which made me wonder. What _were_ they saying about Zach? Whatever it was, if they asked me, I'd be happy to give them the _real_ story. Complete with Winslow's total screwups when it came to me and the Trio, and the Protectorate's total screwup when it came to me and Zach.

As I opened the bathroom door, the TV became more audible. "We're here today outside the house of Daniel and Taylor Hebert, where …" _Wait,_ _ **what?**_ _There's people outside the house_ _ **now?**_

Even as I registered that bit of information, a figure filled the doorway. I opened my mouth, but before I could call out, a gloved hand slapped over my face. I was pushed back into the bathroom, my wide eyes staring into those of … _Miss Militia?_ She hooked the door closed with her heel without taking her eyes off of me. The noise of the TV was reduced to a dull murmur again.

"I'm going to take my hand away," she said, very quietly. "You will not shout. You will not scream. If you try to make any noise at all, I will stun you into silence." Before my eyes, she waved that elephant-hunting taser again. "Do you understand? Nod if you understand."

Carefully, I nodded. I'd been shocked once already today; even if it was non-lethal, I didn't want another try at it.

"Good." I couldn't see if she was smiling, but her tone became marginally less tense. "I'm removing my hand now." Slowly, she took her hand away.

I took a reflexive breath of air and she tensed, but I didn't try to call out. _Why didn't I have Zach standing outside the bathroom door?_

"Okay, then." Her voice was the barest whisper. "I'm going to ask you some questions. Answer as briefly as you can. Has he hurt you?"

I shook my head sharply. "No!" I whispered as intensely as I could.

The skin around her eyes creased, but I wasn't sure what that meant. I was pretty sure she wasn't smiling. "Are you under any kind of duress?"

"No," I answered again. "He's been a complete gentleman."

From outside the bathroom door, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Taylor," called Zach. "There are people outside your house. We should go." He paused. "Taylor, where are you?"

Miss Militia's gloved hand slapped over my mouth again, while the taser pressed against my side. I didn't struggle; instead, I just raised my eyebrows at the superhero. _Your move._

Despite the scarf over her face, she looked entirely unhappy with the whole situation. All I had to do was make any sort of noise at all, and Zach would be in the bathroom with us, door or no door. I had zero doubt of that. She was obviously thinking the same thing; without taking her hand from my mouth or her weapon from my side, she circled around me until she was at my back, looking past me at the door. Which then opened.

"Hello, Taylor!" Zach said brightly, now wearing one of Dad's old Boomers t-shirts. "There you are. Hello, Miss Militia. You are a hero, and Taylor does not want me to kill superheroes. But if you do not take your dangerous weapon away from her, I will be forced to hurt you quite a lot. I promise not to kill you, though."

I reached up, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her hand away from my mouth. She didn't resist too much. Perhaps she'd realised that the main reason for keeping me quiet was long gone. "Hello, Zach," I said. "It's good to see you. How many people are around the house?"

"Two PRT strike squads," Miss Militia said unexpectedly from behind me. "Plus nearly all the local Protectorate."

"So how _is_ Assault?" I asked with a cheeky grin, stepping forward to Zach. He moved aside to let me stand beside him in the doorway.

"He's well enough," she replied wearily. "Apparently everyone there wants to buy him a drink." I heard resignation in her voice. "Knowing him, he'll accept." She switched her gaze to Zach. "Thank you for not killing him."

"I have many options that do not involve killing people," Zach informed her, still in that cheerful tone of voice. "But I notice you are still pointing your weapon at Taylor." As he said my name, he … _moved._ It wasn't a lunge forward so much as he had simply decided to be elsewhere. Before I could even blink, he was standing beside me once more, but now he was holding the taser. "And now you are not."

Miss Militia blinked down at her empty hand. She made some sort of weird gesture with it, which apparently achieved exactly nothing. Then she stared at the taser still in Zach's hand. "What … _how did you do that?"_ she demanded.

"It is as I told Armsmaster," he explained patiently. "If you threaten Taylor with a weapon, it means that you are not responsible enough to have the weapon, so I will take it away."

"But … it's my _power."_ She stared once more at her hand, then at the taser. "You _can't_ just take it away." She was almost like a child demanding that her toy be given back.

"It seems that he can," I observed, trying not to grin at her bewilderment. Zach did seem to have that effect on people. Personally, I had decided that doing the metaphorical equivalent of sitting back with a bag of popcorn was much more rewarding. If Zach wanted to make the world into a comedy for my benefit, I wasn't averse. Asking _how_ he did stuff just led to really weird answers.

And then I heard glass breaking from down below.

 _Oh,_ _ **hell**_ _no._

"That's your guys, isn't it?" I asked. "Did they just _break the windows_ to get into my house?" The question was kind of superfluous, as the next thing I heard was boots on the floorboards. "Tell 'em to stop, right now!"

"Taylor, do you want me to evict the people who have just invaded your house?" Zach was as eager as a terrier going walkies. "I can do that for you, if you want."

I tilted my head. Now that I was listening for it, I could also hear incoming helicopter blades. "No. They're the diversion. I was supposed to wait up here while more of them come in the upstairs window and secure me. Right, Miss Militia?" I took a step toward her. "Tell them to go away. All of them. Or Zach just might hurt some of them."

Zach leaned out of the door and fired the taser. There was a crackling sound and a cut-off scream. "One down, Taylor. I can make the rest go away, if you want. How many do you want me to hurt?"

I looked the superhero in the eye. "That's Miss Militia's call. Tell them to pull back, or I tell Zach to use his best judgement. As you can see, he's _extremely_ concerned with my welfare."

Miss Militia nodded once, sharply. "Mike-mike here. All units, pull back urgentmost. I say again, all units pull back, over."

I didn't hear the reply to her order, but she didn't like it. "Dammit! He's standing right in front of me! We're blown! Pull back before he decides to throw the _rest_ of you to Boston! Over!"

Zach tilted his head. "I do not think I could throw a normal human to Boston, but I believe that I could reach the PRT building with one. Most of one, anyway." He sounded vaguely speculative. "If I was careful with my aim, I should be able to hit Director Piggot's window."

"Please don't," I murmured.

"I will not, unless you ask me to," he assured me.

"Good." I turned to Miss Militia. "Okay, what the crap was all this about? All I wanted was to have a nice quiet day, and you've gone and ruined it for me _again."_

"It was decided," she said, "that the PRT needed to have a dialogue with your friend Zach." Her tone made it clear that this was not her idea.

"So you sneak in and the PRT breaks in, and you think this is a _good idea?"_ I demanded. "You _saw_ what happened to Assault!"

"I was overruled." Now she sounded very unhappy. "But orders are orders."

"Who gave these orders?" Zach looked intent, which boded well for nobody. "Taylor may have been hurt. I will not allow that."

* * *

 **Somewhat Earlier**

* * *

Emily Piggot's email inbox pinged. She clicked it open, to find an email from Peterson. _That was fast work._ However, just as she opened it, the phone rang. With a sigh, she picked up the receiver. "Director Piggot."

" _Hello, Emily."_ The voice was almost familiar to her. _"Congratulations on screwing up a simple situation so thoroughly. Consider yourself seconded to my command. Effective immediately."_

"Wait, what now?" She sat bolt upright, ignoring the stab of pain from her lower back. "Identify yourself or get off this line." Reaching out, she hit the button that set about tracing the call anyway.

" _It's Tagg. James Tagg. We met a few years ago. When I heard about your problem, I was able to convince the Chief Director that it needed my touch. The email with your orders should be coming through any minute now."_

The arrogant tone was coming back to her. That was Tagg, all right. He was as hawkish a PRT officer as it was possible to be; even Emily, with her ingrained dislike of parahumans, considered Tagg to be altogether too reactionary when it came to capes. "The situation here is entirely under control."

" _I see. So one of your capes gets punched from one city to another on a regular occasion? No, Emily, it is not."_

She shook her head stubbornly. "It's a unique scenario. One that bringing more force into the mix will not solve. Assault proved that."

" _Which just means that you aren't using the right type or amount of force."_ Tagg's voice was dismissive. _"I'm on a flight up there right now. In the meantime, I'll be opening a command channel and you will relay my orders."_

"If your orders will kill my men, you can k-" Emily broke off what she was about to say. "I will not relay any orders that will put my men in undue danger."

" _Just goes to show that you haven't got what it takes."_ Tagg's voice was a sneer. _"I always thought you lost your nerve in Ellisburg."_

The plastic receiver creaked in Emily's hand. The only thing stopping her from releasing a blistering tirade of invective back down the phone was the certain knowledge that he was recording the call. Tagg wasn't quite the snake that Calvert was, but he was definitely right up there in the asshole stakes. She breathed deeply, trying to regain her cool. "I'll be contacting the Chief Director as soon as possible," she promised. "This situation will not be improved by outside interference."

" _You go ahead, Emily,"_ Tagg said mockingly. _"But in the meantime, I'm going to need everything you have on the situation."_ He paused. _"And don't even think of holding anything back."_

Emily grimaced. Right now, her hands were tied. But she would get control back.

 _This is_ _ **my**_ _city, dammit._

* * *

 **Taylor, Now**

* * *

Miss Militia preceded us down the stairs. Zach followed, while I brought up the rear. The heavy taser dangled from his hand; while I still wasn't quite sure how he'd done it, I was very impressed. The front door was open, with a PRT trooper standing outside. We walked into the living room, where two of the three windows had been smashed; twinkling in the light, broken glass lay all over the floor and on the sofa.

With a quick movement, Zach scooped me off of my feet. "You are not wearing shoes. Your feet will be harmed if you step on broken glass."

I was almost getting used to this, and I couldn't fault his logic. "Good point, Zach. Miss Militia, who broke my windows?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure. I can ask."

"Good. Do that." I pointed at the windows and the glass lying everywhere. "I want that cleaned up and fixed. Before Dad gets home. Or _you_ get to explain to him who did it, and left dirty boot-prints everywhere."

"I'm not entirely sure …" she began.

Before she got any farther, Zach took a single step. It was just a small one, but he must have hit a sweet spot, because the entire house shuddered and boomed. Dust drifted down from above, and all the loose glass shivered and chattered. "Taylor has asked that you clean up your mess and fix the windows that were broken. Is this so unreasonable?"

She'd have a crease down the middle of her forehead, with all the frowning she was doing. "Uh … wait one. Mike-mike calling Commander Calvert. I need you in the house immediately, over." She paused for a moment. "Yes, Commander. Immediately. _Now._ Mike-mike out." She touched her ear.

"And who's Commander Calvert?" I asked blankly.

"He's the squad commander," she said with a sigh. "If you want to know who's ultimately responsible for your windows being broken, it's him."

"So how did _you_ get in?" I asked. "Did you break any windows?"

She shook her head. "No. You leave your bedroom window open. That might not be a great idea."

"Ah." I looked at her with some respect. To get up a blank wall and in through that window took serious climbing chops. I'd never even tried it, and I had grown up in the house. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."

Bootsteps sounded outside, then a tall man entered the house. Zach and I looked him over; even with the bulk afforded him by the uniform and equipment, he was still really skinny. I saw what looked like a pistol holster on his hip, but he wasn't carrying any other sort of weapon that I could tell. Unlike his men, he wore a light helmet without a concealing faceplate. "I'm Commander Calvert," he said briskly. "What's going on here?"

"Hello, Commander Calvert," Zach replied brightly. "Did you order your men to break Taylor's windows?"

Calvert blinked. "Are you Zachary?"

"Yes. Did you order your men to break Taylor's windows?" Zach gestured with the hand holding the taser. "They made a mess in her house. You will repair Taylor's house and leave it clean before her father returns home. Then you will leave her alone."

Calvert winced in response to something I didn't see. I figured that his superior officer was yelling in his ear or something. This wasn't something I was worried about.

"That's not going to happen," he said smoothly. "The Parahuman Response Teams do not bow to the demands of -"

"Excuse me, Taylor." Zach took a step toward the doorway and put me down. Then he _moved_ again, in a way that suggested that he hadn't bothered occupying the intervening space. Or perhaps he had, and my eyes just weren't fast enough to keep up. When he unblurred, he was standing beside Commander Calvert, one hand on the taller man's shoulder, pulling his head down to Zach's level.

Calvert struggled, but Zach's grip was implacable. "Let me go!" the PRT officer shouted, pawing at his holster.

Zach tossed the taser in the air; less than a second later, it dissolved into green-black energy, which streamed back toward Miss Militia. He used his now-free hand to clamp on to Calvert's wrist. "You will not draw your weapon in Taylor's presence," he told Calvert in reproving tones. "Also …" He leaned in close to Calvert and whispered something. I couldn't hear what it was, but it was only a few words. Pulling back, he paused for a moment. I couldn't see his expression, but Calvert seemed to choke for a second, and his face went so white I was surprised that he was still on his feet. His entire body trembled. After a moment, Zach let him go and _moved_ back to my side.

Calvert straightened up, apparently unharmed, but his face was still amazingly pale as he stared at Zach. His lips twitched a few times. Beside me, Zach shook his head slightly. Calvert looked as though he wanted to throw up. "It's … a reasonable request," he said, very reluctantly. "I'll give orders to that effect."

"And we're free to go?" I pressed. "I don't want anyone getting hurt from a misunderstanding." I hooked my arm through Zach's. "I feel like going down to the Boardwalk. Are the buses still running?"

"They will be," Calvert said, looking as though he were gargling broken glass … or perhaps, that he wished he were. "I'll relay orders that nobody is to impede you."

"I am _so_ glad that we could come to an understanding," Zach said cheerfully. "You see, Taylor? They _can_ be reasoned with."

"Oh, _good,"_ I said, equally cheerfully. "I wasn't _really_ looking forward to seeing if Zach really could throw someone through Director Piggot's window from here." I gave Calvert a meaningful look. _You'd be the first pick._

That time, I got an actual wince from the PRT commander. "That won't be necessary," he said faintly. "Nobody needs to get hurt today."

I rolled my eyes. "That's what I keep saying. Does anyone listen?" I headed for the door, with Zach at my side.

"Wait." It was Miss Militia. "I can drive you there, if you want. Ensure that you arrive safely."

I was instantly suspicious. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

"No trick." She held her hands up, empty; her weapon, now some sort of pistol, was holstered at her hip. "I just want to make sure that nobody else tries anything ill-advised." A look of irritation crossed her face, and she plucked a small object from her ear. "Anything at all."

"Miss Militia." Calvert studied her closely. "Are you sure that you know what you're doing?"

"Commander Calvert," she replied. "I will follow any legal order that I am given. It is my duty to refuse to follow illegal orders." She shut her mouth then, making me wonder what illegal orders she may have been given. "Let's go."

I followed her outside with Zach at my side. There were a lot of PRT troopers here, at least to my untrained eye. Also here were Armsmaster, Velocity, Battery and Dauntless. Hovering over them was the oldest member of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, Challenger. With his arms crossed, clad in red and gold force-fields like a knight of old, he looked down toward Zach and myself. I didn't know why he hadn't been at Winslow, but things may have turned out differently if he had. Or maybe not; I didn't know. Rumour had it that he was considering retirement. If he did, it would tip the balance of power away from the Protectorate. I hoped that they would find a replacement soon.

Beyond the troopers were at least two news vans, proving that all the information security in the world couldn't stop the news from finding a juicy enough story. I could see the cameras pointing in our direction, with the reporters talking busily into their microphones. I turned to Zach. "Have you ever been on TV?"

"No, Taylor," he said. "I have not. But my sister and brothers have. Many times."

"You're going to have to tell me about your family sometime," I replied. "But right now, I feel like getting my fifteen minutes of fame." Turning, I headed for the news vans.

"Taylor." Miss Militia's voice held a tinge of alarm. "Are you certain this is a good idea?"

"Nope." I kept walking. "But I've tried all the good ideas. They didn't work. Now I don't give a shit any more. It's time that Brockton Bay found out exactly how big a fuck-up's gone on here, and how hard you're trying to cover it up."

"I really think you should re-think this." Her voice held almost physical pain. "This is going to cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people, some of whom don't deserve it."

"And I _did?"_ I stopped, whirling to face her and raising my voice. "Listen. I got shat on for more than a fucking _year._ The _first_ time that someone actually steps in and does something _real_ for me, you want to arrest him. Then, even when you find out the facts, you _keep trying._ It seems to me that all you're trying to do is prevent me from getting any kind of justice out of all this. If I want to talk to a reporter and tell him exactly who put me in that goddamn locker, then I will _tell him._ Let Emma and Sophia know what it's like to be in my place for once."

"But this will also out Zach, and what he can do," she protested.

"This does not worry me," Zach assured her. "My family are unlikely to be targeted because of me."

"And if anyone tries to hurt me, Zach will stop them." I was very matter of fact. "I'm not going to be a superhero. I just want to live my life."

She tried one more time. "And your father?"

I looked her in the eye. "Fair warning. If anyone targets Dad, I'll be telling Zach that it's okay to kill them. Feel free to spread that around."

"I have not yet met Taylor's father," Zach put in, "but if she holds him in such regard, I am entirely willing to kill to maintain his welfare."

She scrubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand, avoiding a facepalm by the barest of margins. "Please, _please_ don't talk about killing like that with news cameras just there. The more you do that sort of thing, the harder it is to keep this low-key. Trust me, there are people out there that you don't _want_ to attract to Brockton Bay, and this is exactly what attracts them."

Zach turned to me. "Is this true, Taylor? Will people come to Brockton Bay to hurt you?"

I sighed unhappily as common sense overcame my buzz. _I knew it was too good to be true._ "Yes. The Slaughterhouse Nine would do it. Especially if you challenged them like that."

"That is not a good thing." He took on a troubled expression. "If the Slaughterhouse Nine threatened you, would it be acceptable for me to kill them?"

"What's that?" Miss Militia and I turned around, to see that one of the reporters had approached us, with a cameraman in tow. "Are you saying that you could beat the _Slaughterhouse Nine?"_ She was in her late thirties or early forties, with a certain look in her eye that said she would get a scoop or die trying.

"No!" Miss Militia shot me a desperate glance before turning to the reporter. I read it quite clearly as _shut that idiot up before he says something even more stupid._ "He was speaking in hypotheticals. Please don't broadcast that."

"I'm sorry, Miss Militia." The reporter smiled for the camera, not looking at all sorry. "We're live at the moment. Who is he, anyway? He doesn't look like any of our local capes. Sir, can I get an interview?"

Zach ignored her and wandered over to one of the PRT vans. I stuck close to him, curious as to what he was doing. There was a trooper standing next to the van with a containment foam sprayer in his hands, but pointed at the ground. He went to raise it as Zach approached him, but I shook my head.

"Excuse me," said Zach, looking at the van, "but is there anyone in your vehicle?"

The trooper shook his head. "No. Why?"

Zach ignored the question. "That is good. How much does it cost?"

"With all the equipment, couple hundred thousand or so," the trooper said. "Don't try to steal it, kid. I _will_ foam your ass."

Zach turned to me. "Taylor, is it acceptable to destroy something worth two hundred thousand dollars to keep you safe?"

"I … what?" I wasn't keeping up at all. "Destroying that will keep me safe? How?"

"It will remove a threat on your life." Zach's voice was entirely serious.

I shrugged. "Um … my life's pretty damn valuable to me, so … yes?"

He nodded, smiling happily. "Thank you, Taylor." Then he turned back to the trooper, who was talking urgently to himself … or rather, to other people on his radio. "Excuse me, but I need your vehicle." Ignoring the trooper, he stepped past him, knelt alongside the van … and lifted it bodily into the air.

If there had been anyone not paying attention to him before that, that changed matters. _Everyone_ was watching him now; reporters talking urgently into microphones, and PRT troopers pointing rifles and foam sprayers. The Protectorate members, who had been watching from a discreet distance, began to close in. Challenger swooped in a little closer, but did not attack.

"Put it down!" shouted the trooper who had been standing by the van. "Put it down right now, and put your hands on your head!" He pointed his foam sprayer.

"Forget it, soldier," Armsmaster advised the trooper. "I've seen him tear right through foam like it wasn't there. Zachary!"

"Yes, Armsmaster?" Balancing the van on his hands, Zach didn't even sound out of breath. He tossed it lightly into the air so that it spun, and caught it as it landed rear end first on his hands. I could hear the sound of breakage happening from within, and wondered how expensive that shattering sound was. In the end, I settled on 'very'.

"I'm going to need you to put that down, son." Armsmaster's voice was calm but masterful. I wondered if he was reading from a script. "I don't know what you intend to do with it, but you're making a lot of people very nervous."

"I understand, Armsmaster." Zach turned slightly, leaned back a little … then heaved. There was a shattering _crack,_ and I clapped my hands over my ears. Dazed, I realised that the sound had come from the fast-disappearing van _breaking the sound barrier._ Zach's next words were harder to hear, but just as clear. "Do not worry. No innocents will be harmed by it."

Challenger shaded his eyes as he stared along the path of the now-vanished airborne van. "That's a mighty big call to make, youngster. The speed that thing's going, it's going to make one hell of a crater when it hits."

"Yes, I know." Zach approached Armsmaster and held out his hand. "I need your weapon."

Armsmaster shook his head definitively. "You're not having it."

Zach nodded. "All right." I tensed; if Zach took the halberd anyway, there would very likely be a lot of trouble.

But he didn't. Instead, he wandered over to where a no-parking sign stood lonely at the side of the road. With one hand, he took hold of the sign and heaved it from the ground. Lifting it up, he cleaned the concrete from the lower end by running his other hand down it, with about the same effort that I would use to brush lint from my clothes. Then he casually tore the sign from the top end and tossed it aside.

"What _are_ you doing?" I asked curiously. After the stunt with the van, most other people weren't getting close enough to ask questions.

"Removing a threat to your life," he said seriously. Hefting the pipe in his hand, he turned a little, peering southwest. Then, much as he had done with the van, he reared back and threw. The sonic boom was a lot less impressive, but all I saw of its disappearance was a thin line that drew itself in the sky and disappeared, even more quickly than the van had. At the end, I was almost sure I saw a glow before it disappeared.

"Excuse me!" It was the reporter again. "Sir! Giselle Barber, Brockton Bay Nightly News! Can you tell our viewers what you're doing?"

Zach dusted his hands off and turned toward the woman. "Yes. I am removing a threat to the life of Taylor Hebert and to the well-being of Brockton Bay."

"Can you explain what you mean by that, sir?" She pressed closer, eyes alight with the zeal of the hunt.

"Yes." Zach's voice did not change. "The Slaughterhouse Nine is …"

* * *

 **Not Far out of Freedom, Oklahoma**

* * *

" … _one thousand five hundred forty-one miles to the south-west of Brockton Bay. They constitute a clear and present hazard to the life and emotional well-being of Taylor Hebert,"_ stated the clean-cut young man on the TV. _"I have just killed the five members who would have caused the most problems. They will not threaten Taylor Hebert any more."_

Crawler stirred from his doze outside the partially demolished roadside motel as the sound of the TV within the one semi-intact room rose in volume. Seated in one of the few chairs still intact after their rampage, Jack Slash was pointing the remote at the set. In the light coming in from outside, the multiple eyes of the most monstrous member of the Nine could make out the continuous flicker of a balisong knife as the leader of the group opened it and closed it, over and over. "That's a challenge if I ever heard one," Slash observed, muting the TV and looking over his shoulder. "Don't you think so, poppet?"

Shatterbird was dozing on the bed, while Bonesaw sat on the end of the same bed and braided the Siberian's hair. To make this easier, the tiger-striped woman was seated on the floor.

Bonesaw's response was high-pitched and sweet. "Oh, yes. Do you think – huh?"

It took a moment for Crawler to understand the reason for her exclamation. One moment, the Siberian had been sitting on the floor before Bonesaw, and the next she had popped from existence. A vague puzzlement overcame him; he'd seen the Siberian do many impossible things before, but never that one. Then his attention was drawn by a minor ground tremor, followed by a drawn-out _ccccrrraaaaaccckkk_ overlaid by a distant _booom,_ somewhere to the west.

"You hear that?" several of his mouths asked Mannequin, who was doing some sort of maintenance check beside him. The bone-white head raised, seemed to look at him, and shook a negatory.

From within the room, Jack Slash's voice rose, sounding urgent. "I think we need to move. Right now." Dropping the knife, he came to his feet, while Shatterbird sat up and asked what the hell was going on. Still not sure what the fuss was all about, Crawler watched Slash head for the door, dragging the kid by the arm. Then his attention was drawn by a bright light coming in from the northeast. Really bright, really fast.

The impact was … _amazing_. Crawler hadn't been hit that hard in _forever._ Buffeted by shockwaves, seared by flame, he tumbled over and over across the dry ground, flailing his various limbs. When he finally skidded to a halt, he looked around in bewilderment. "What the fuck _was_ that?" he asked out loud, waiting for his ears to heal so he could hear any answers. There were none, but after a while, he did hear a distant groan. Trundling in that direction, he found Hatchet Face, missing an arm and nearly dead, if the amount of blood soaking into the ground was any indication. He waited till his teammate stopped moving, then ventured closer, drooling acid from several mouths. Food was food, after all.

He never saw the blow coming. Impelled by Hatchet Face's remaining arm, the power-nullifier's axe sheared through several of his legs. Too late, he tried to leap out of the no-power range, but Hatchet Face was already scrambling on to his back. Again and again, the one-armed killer hacked away at him. Crawler tried to throw him off so he could get far enough away to regenerate, but it was to no avail. While he didn't feel pain, he did feel himself getting weaker with every wound.

When Hatchet Face's axe cleaved into Crawler's braincase, it was almost a mercy. Through dimming eyes, Crawler saw the psychotic axe murderer stagger a few steps, then fall flat on his face. Behind him, in the late morning air, a mushroom cloud made of dust and ash hung over the crater that marked the funeral pyre of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

 _Well …_ Crawler's last thoughts faded away, save for one. _Fuck._

And then that was gone too.

* * *

" … any more." Zach smiled at the camera. "That is all I have to say. Please leave me alone now." He turned away from the reporter; not entirely surprisingly, she did not follow.

As he rejoined me, Miss Militia was staring at him, not very much to my surprise. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Were you serious about all that?"

"Zach's always serious," I told her. "He always means exactly what he says. I like that about him."

"So … you're saying that you just hit the Nine with that van. From fifteen hundred miles away."

"One thousand, five hundred forty-one miles, to be precise," Zach corrected her. "And one thousand one hundred sixty-two feet, but I did not think that was a necessary detail."

She shook her head slightly, a dazed look in her eye. "How did you even know where they _were?"_

Zach looked at her ingenuously. "Are you saying that you did _not_ know where they were? It was obvious to _me."_ He stepped closer to me. "Do you still wish to go to the Boardwalk, Taylor?"

I grinned at him. _"Love_ to."

* * *

Thomas Calvert considered his options.

Facing that teenage boy had been the most terrifying moment of his life, Ellisburg included. When 'Zachary' had leaned in to speak to Calvert and whispered _"I know that you are Coil,"_ it was bad enough. But just before returning to the Hebert girl's side, the boy's eyes had flickered through a series of changes almost too fast to spot. First a burning red, then a glowing green, then pure white. One blink later, the eyes were back to normal, but Calvert knew what he had seen. He knew what that sequence meant. He wished he didn't, but he did.

It could still have been a massive hoax of some sort. A projection by the Hebert girl, or something similar. Working on that hypothesis, he had tried to kill the girl, only to have that timeline deleted even before it was started. More terrifyingly, 'Zachary' had looked directly at him in the 'safe' timeline and _shaken his head._

And then there was … this.

All of which added up to one thing.

Coil wasn't just getting the hell out of Brockton Bay. He was leaving the _state._

And, just to be on the safe side, he was going to move more than one thousand, five hundred forty-one miles away.

Though he was seriously beginning to wonder just what the hell constituted minimum safe distance from an _Endbringer_.

* * *

End of Part Four


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

Part Five: Eclectic Boogaloo

* * *

 _[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]_

* * *

I grinned at Zach. The Boardwalk sounded great, right at that moment. _"Love_ to." With that settled, I turned to Miss Militia. "So, are you still okay with … wait, what's going on over there?" 'Over there' was where I could hear shouted orders and the honking of a car horn. A somewhat _familiar_ -sounding horn.

"I don't know." With a very large revolver suddenly filling her right hand, Miss Militia turned toward the disturbance. "Stay here. I'll check it out." Holding the pistol low at her side, she moved in that direction.

The horn sounded again, and I tilted my head. "You know something? That sounds like Dad's car. He must've seen what was happening on the news and come home to see what's going on. What do you think?" Zach was easy to talk to. He actually _listened_ to what I was saying, and said what I needed to hear, rather than what he thought I wanted to hear.

"I think that if you think it is your father's car, you may very well be correct. It would make sense for him to be concerned about your welfare. I have not yet met him. I would like to do so." He gestured in the direction that Miss Militia had gone. "Shall we go and see if it is him?"

Pretending to consider the question, I rubbed my chin. "Well, she _did_ tell us to stay here for our own protection …" While my words said one thing, my tone said quite another. _Hell yes, I want to see._ This wasn't just me being contrary; I wanted to see how well Zach picked up on nonverbal cues.

"There is nothing in the immediate vicinity that can harm you in a way that I cannot prevent." His voice was firm. "You will be no less safe over there than you are right here." His tone held no bravado. As always, this was just Zach stating a plain fact.

I also noted that he made no mention about 'if they let us through'. It seemed that the only person whom Zach considered worth listening to was me. Which was, I couldn't deny, a little bit of a rush. I wasn't quite sure _how_ he pulled off the stuff he did, but he'd kept me perfectly safe since we met, and that was good enough for me. Also, throwing a van fifteen hundred miles to turn Jack Slash into street pizza? That, on its own, was _way_ cool.

"Thank you, Zach." Linking my arm through his, I grinned up at him. "I think that's a great idea." Suiting action to word, we headed for the bunch of PRT soldiers who'd gathered around the car. I noticed that Zach was making sure to keep just a little ahead of me, which I didn't mind at all. A deeply cynical part of my mind noted how people got out of his way with some alacrity when he asked them to, whereas I would've had to step around them. Of course, he was fairly polite about it, which was good; after all, I figured that some of these people were in need of a reminder that manners were important. He'd even been nice about asking that Commander Calvert guy to clean up the mess they made when they busted their way into the house. Which he totally didn't have to be, but it seemed to be Zach's standard operating procedure, and who was I to argue with that? I decided that I needed more friends like him. _I wonder if he'd introduce me to his family. They sound interesting._

When we got closer, I began to hear the sound of an ongoing argument. On the one side, there was a PRT soldier telling someone that they couldn't drive down the street, but on the other … "Zach," I said. "That's my dad. I can hear him." It was Dad all right, insisting that he lived in that house right there and let him through so he could see his daughter, dammit!

"Dad!" I called out. "I'm right here! I'm all right!" All the soldiers in front of us turned to look as I stepped up beside Zach, confident that nobody would mess with me while I was with him.

To my secret amusement, from inside the helmet of the nearest guy, I heard a faint voice saying, "Oh, shit. Back off, guys." Even before whoever it was finished speaking, they'd collectively taken a step away from us. The ones who were up against the car moved sideways instead, but every helmet faceplate was directed straight at the teenage boy by my side. Nobody raised a gun or even looked like they were reaching for one; in fact, they seemed to be taking great pains in making it obvious that they weren't making any hostile moves.

"Thank you." Zach was smiling as he said it. Of course, he'd been smiling exactly the same way when he picked up the van and threw it. I was pretty sure that _nobody_ there mistook his friendliness for weakness. "Please move away from the car. Taylor wishes to speak with her father." He stepped forward with me beside him, and the area cleared so fast that I wondered if some of the troopers didn't have secret Mover ratings. I got the distinct impression that they didn't want to see if he'd really try to hit Director Piggot's office window from here with one of them. Not that I thought he would, unless someone did something _really_ stupid, but the possibility was there.

"Taylor." Miss Militia was the closest person to us now, and even she was taking care to maintain her distance. The massive revolver had become a baton tucked into her belt. "I thought I told you to keep back." The frustration in her voice was echoed in the creases around her eyes. I thought about ignoring her but she'd been polite to me, so I decided to return the favour.

"Nope." I gave her a grin. "You _asked_ me to keep back, but I decided not to do it. Anyway, it's only Dad." I gave her a little wave. "I'll let you know if we need anything, thanks." As I turned back to the car, I wondered if I'd been a little abrupt, but she _had_ pointed that damn great taser at me, so fair was fair.

"Taylor?" This time it was Dad, just now getting out of the driver's seat of the car. "Are you all right? The news-" He didn't get any further, because I threw my arms around him and hung on as tightly as I could. I felt his arms wrap around me in a hug that I never wanted to end.

"Don't worry about me, Dad." My voice was muffled against his chest, but I didn't care. "Are you okay? They were getting pretty rude to you, there."

"Yeah, I'm fine." He squeezed me tightly enough to make my ribs creak—I did my best to return the favour—then he held me at arms' length. "I'm worried about _you._ I saw on the news that some supervillain had holed up in the house with you as a hostage, so I came right over." I could hear the echo of fear in his voice, but the tension in his body was leaching out, second by second. "Is it over? Did they get the guy?"

I giggled and pulled far enough back so he could see as I rolled my eyes. "Dad, no. Zach's not a supervillain. He's a regular kid, just like me." After a moment, I decided to amend that. "Well, _almost_ like me." Turning, I beckoned to Zach. "Come on, I want you to meet my Dad." As Zach came around the car—I was glad he didn't just shove it aside, because Dad might take that badly—I looked from one to the other. _I really hope Dad likes him._

Stepping up beside me, Zach gave Dad a look of interest, then held out his hand. "How do you do, Mr Hebert? My name is Zachary, but you may call me Zach. I am here to protect your daughter from all harm and to ensure her happiness. I hope this meets with your approval?" Sincerity rang through every syllable; when Zach decided do something, he went right ahead and _did_ it. It was one of the many things I appreciated about him. I also enjoyed his up-front honesty about everything, such as the way he'd always told me the exact truth about himself. Well, except when he told me that joke about being an Endbringer. That had been _hilarious._

Dad blinked and shook the proffered hand in a dazed fashion. "Well, I'm her father. Of _course_ it meets with my approval. But how do you intend to do that? Brockton Bay is a dangerous place, after all. And what's this about a supervillain?" He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently; I leaned into him.

His concern was obvious, but of course misplaced. I chuckled and shook my head. "Oh, Dad. Zach's not a _villain._ He saved me from the bullies in school, and hurt a couple of them in the process, so someone called the PRT." I sighed and rolled my eyes again. "Totally over-reacting, if you ask me."

Dad frowned. "He … _hurt_ … them?" His eyes went to Zach—to be fair, Zach's muscles had muscles on them, but he was no Manpower—and then to the PRT soldiers, all of whom were still giving us a conspicuously wide berth. "How badly, and why isn't he under arrest? I mean, I know how this goes." He paused for a second. "And why is the _PRT_ involved? Young man, are you a parahuman?"

"No, sir." Zach shook his head firmly. "I am not a parahuman. I am just very good at what I do." Which was so obviously true that it wasn't even up for debate. Dad still looked puzzled, so Zach elaborated. "When the three girls locked Taylor in her locker with the smelly waste, I went to let her out. The girls got in my way, so I put them out of my way without killing them. Then I opened up the locker and took Taylor to get cleaned up and to have something to eat. Because food is good for shock." The way he told it made it sound almost innocent, like _anyone_ could have done it.

"I don't think they were hurt too badly," I added. "I mean, Zach didn't kill them. That's good, right?" I wasn't overly worried about anyone coming after Zach for hurting Emma and her friends. The problem was that if they kept trying to arrest him, he'd probably end up injuring some of them sooner or later, and I didn't want that either.

Dad frowned. "Killing is never good." His expression was dubious as he looked at Zach. "The fact that you're even _talking_ about killing people is worrisome. You're what, sixteen?" There was a certain tone in his voice that I'd never heard before. After a moment, I had it figured out from context: _no boy is good enough for my daughter._

"Taylor has said that she will be unhappy if I kill people," Zach said. "I do not want to make her unhappy. I am glad that she let me make an exception for the Slaughterhouse Nine, though." His voice was just as cheerful and polite as ever. It may have seemed incongruous, except that Zach always spoke in that fashion. He never actually seemed to get angry; or at least, not in any way I could really make out.

"The … Slaughterhouse Nine?" Dad blinked, then swung to look at me. "What … Taylor, what's he _talking_ about?" His expression of bewilderment almost made me giggle. The impulse grew stronger when I imagined his reaction to being told about it.

"Uh, it happened just before you got here." I pointed into the sky, toward the southwest. "While you were on the way, did you hear a couple of really loud booms, from that direction?" The TV news probably hadn't made the radio, I guessed. However Dad had gotten the news about the house being surrounded, he'd left it to come here, so he knew nothing about the ongoing situation.

"Yes." Now he was looking even more dubious. "I figured it was some sort of cape shenanigans. Probably someone breaking the sound barrier inside city limits." He folded his arms and gave Zach a hard stare. I had to admire his fortitude, under the circumstances. But then again, he'd grown up in Brockton Bay and lived through a _previous_ visit of the Nine to the city. "Did you have something to do with that?"

"Yes, sir." Zach's reply was prompt and up front. "The Slaughterhouse Nine were a clear and present danger to Taylor's happiness and physical welfare, so I decided to remove them from consideration. It was not hard to find items of sufficient mass with which to accomplish this. My sister assisted me with targeting, and my oldest brother helped achieve a suitable kinetic event upon impact. The Slaughterhouse Nine were destroyed, and no innocents were hurt. Unfortunately, several people were badly frightened, but they were not harmed, so I am satisfied with how it turned out." He sounded very pleased with himself. I didn't blame him for feeling that way; I thought it was kind of awesome myself. He'd destroyed the Slaughterhouse Nine just to make _me_ happy! _I'd like to see any other girl get a present like that from a guy friend._ Though now I wanted to hear more about his sister and brothers.

Dad rubbed at his forehead with thumb and forefinger, as if to ward off an impending headache. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but …. what 'objects of sufficient mass' are you talking about, exactly, here?" He was taking this better than I'd feared, but we still weren't out of the woods yet. Some people seemed to have more trouble than others when it came to accepting what Zach could do. "And you have a brother and a sister? Uh, are they here?"

I decided to help Zach out. "Uh, he threw a PRT van and the pole from that street sign there." I indicated the ragged hole in the pavement, with the torn-off sign lying forlornly nearby. "He did ask me if it was okay first." It wasn't as though he'd just picked the van up and tossed it without making sure that there was nobody inside first. And Armsmaster wasn't even angry about it, which meant that it was okay. Didn't it? "And I haven't met his brother or sister yet. I'm looking forward to it, though."

My answer didn't seem to make Dad much happier. "And he's not even a parahuman," he muttered. "I swear, the world is getting stranger every day." He took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. "And you're certain you killed the Nine?" The question was directed toward Zach. Not even Dad, it seemed, had a problem with killing when the victims in question were the Nine.

"Oh, yes." Zach's expression was guileless. "My first strike eliminated the Siberian. The rest died either in the second strike or shortly afterward. It was actually easier than it sounds. There were no innocents nearby to avoid. Even though I had to go kind of close to an airliner and really close to a helicopter, nobody got hurt." For which I would be eternally grateful. I didn't know what would be worse; knowing that Zach had killed innocents in the process of taking out the Nine, or knowing that he'd spared them to save innocents.

"Well, that's good, I suppose." Dad managed to muster a crooked half-smile. "But why are they being so standoffish about it? Not crowding around and offering congratulations?" His gesture took in the PRT soldiers and Protectorate capes who were still watching us cautiously. Miss Militia was closer than most, but she kept her hand protectively on the baton in her belt.

I didn't work very hard to hold back from smirking. "Uh, that's because Assault tried to stop us from leaving the school. Zach kinda had to … smack some sense into him." My smirk became a chuckle, which segued into helpless laughter as my sides began to heave and tears came to my eyes. After all, it _was_ funny as hell.

Another frown came over Dad's face as he scanned the area. "Assault tried to stop you? Where is he?" I wasn't sure whether Dad wanted to ask Assault what had happened, or tell him off for getting in my way. Either way, he was out of luck.

"Assault is unharmed." Zach came to the rescue, mainly because I was physically incapable of coherent speech right then. "He landed in the Charles River, in Boston, after I caromed him off the Protectorate Base force field." Even helpless with laughter, I had to admire the aplomb with which he delivered lines like that.

However, Dad seemed to be recovering from his initial shock fairly well. "The Charles River, huh? Good aim." He looked Zach up and down. "You said you're good at what you do. What _is_ that, exactly?" As I recovered from my fit of laughter, I decided I was very impressed with Dad. He'd obviously accepted the idea of Zach being able to take out the Nine from half the country away. And if Zach could do _that_ , smacking Assault into the next state was no big deal.

"Protecting Taylor, sir." Zach's tone was straightforward. "Helping her, and making sure that she does not become unhappy. It is what I am here to do."

"I … see." Dad appeared to be more than a little bemused. "So you consider that to be your job now?" He looked from Zach to me and back again. "I mean, not that I disapprove as such given what you've already done for Taylor, but don't you have a life? Friends? Family? School, even?"

"Taylor is my friend." Zach's voice was firm. "My family knows what I am doing. I will be attending school with Taylor, to make sure that nobody attempts to hurt her." He gave me a smile. "Do not worry, Taylor. I will try not to hurt anyone."

"Well, if they keep trying after what happened to Emma and her friends, they deserve whatever happens to them." I didn't realise what I'd said until I saw Dad's eyes widen. _Oh, shit. I never told him it was happening, or that Emma was behind it._ My mind raced, trying to figure out what to say next. Alan Barnes was a good friend of Dad's, but he was also a lawyer. If Mr Barnes decided that I had something to do with Emma getting hurt …

"Taylor." Dad's voice was calm and controlled. "Is there another Emma at Winslow I should know about? And what do you mean, 'after what happened to them'?" No longer bemused, his whole attitude was laser-focused on what I'd just said. I wasn't scared of him—I'd never be scared of Dad—but I knew that I wasn't going to get out of this without telling him what he wanted to know.

"No," I admitted unhappily. "I've been getting bullied at school, a lot. Mainly, it's been Emma and a few of her friends. She … after I came back from summer camp, she'd changed. New hairstyle, new friends. She didn't want to know me. But it got worse, after we went to Winslow. It was like she wanted to destroy every good memory we had together." I blinked, realising that what I'd just said fitted in with Emma's actions almost perfectly. The big question was _why_ , of course, but that could wait till later. For now, I was too taken up with the realisation that what I'd thought was a throwaway line had hit the mark dead centre. "Holy shit," I muttered. "It really was."

Dad's face had set in hard lines. "I'm gonna need to talk to Alan," he said. I figured he was thinking out loud, rather than speaking to me. "If Emma's been pulling shit like that, I need to talk to him as soon as damn possible." His fists clenched, but I wasn't sure if he was aware of this. I knew he had a temper, but I also knew that he kept it under control. "Taylor." His attention was abruptly back on me. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"At first I thought it was just a thing," I confessed. "I mean, I still saw Emma as a friend, then. I figured maybe she was being a bit mean to look good to her other friends, but she'd get tired of it and move on." My voice trailed off as I recalled how she'd proven over and over that she wasn't getting tired of it. The taunting, the escalating incidents, one thing piled on another until I was almost suffocating under the burden.

"But she didn't." Dad didn't phrase it as a question. I could see the whiteness of the skin over his knuckles. Even if he was trying not to show it, he was majorly pissed right now.

I shook my head briefly, almost redundantly. "No. She didn't." I couldn't recall exactly when I had realised that no matter what I wanted to think, Emma was no longer my friend. Or, for that matter, exactly when I had begun to hate and fear her.

"I'm pulling you out of Winslow," he said abruptly. "Whatever else happens, I'm not letting you stay in that shithole of a school for one second longer than necessary. If she can get away with picking on you for that long and not one goddamn teacher does a thing about it, it says to me that something's seriously wrong." He looked like he wanted to punch someone; had Blackwell or even Gladly been in the vicinity right then, I suspected he'd have done just that. As much as we didn't need a lawsuit on top of everything else, I couldn't quite convince myself that I wouldn't watch with a certain amount of glee.

"I'm fine with that." I gave him a beaming smile to prove it. "Of course, they'll just have to accept that Zach comes along with the deal. Won't they, Zach?" As far as I was concerned, it was a done deal. The Brockton Bay educational system had failed me utterly and completely; I'd had enough of projects ruined and teachers looking past what was being done to me. Zach was the only person to ever step up and do something about it, so wherever I went, he came too. Assuming, of course, he was on board with that.

"Of course they will, Taylor." His steady smile reassured me, not that I'd ever had much of a doubt in the matter. "I can be a good student. I learn quickly." There was no boastfulness or swagger in his tone. All I heard was a rock-solid certainty that he could do the work. Which, considering that he'd learned how to tell jokes in the short time I'd known him, I wasn't about to doubt.

"I'm willing to give it a damn good try." Dad's voice was firm. "In the meantime …" His voice trailed off as he stared at the house. "What the hell's going on? What _happened?"_ I didn't have to look too far to figure out what he was referring to; as we watched, a PRT soldier emerged from the house and came down the front steps. Not just any PRT soldier, either; from the height and build, this was Commander Calvert himself. He was carrying what looked like a cardboard box. It might even have been the one that had been sitting beside the trash can in the kitchen, waiting to get thrown out. He began to descend the front steps, and I realised all too late that he didn't know the bottom one was almost rotted through.

"Oh, shit," I muttered, my eyes going wide. "He's going to -"

It happened almost in slow motion. Dad and I usually went into the house via the back stairs; if I used the front door at all, I made sure to step over that one tread. It was just one more job that Dad was going to do once he got the time. Unfortunately, in this particular instance, time had run out. Calvert wasn't the heaviest of men, but the weight of the armour and other gear he was wearing made all the difference; as his boot came down on the step, there was a rending _crack,_ and his foot just kept on going down. Given the fact that the rest of him was travelling forward at the time, this was likely to be problematic.

'Problematic', in this case, meant that Commander Calvert ended up sprawled face-down, with the cardboard box upended before him. From it, broken glass was strewn far and wide on the path before him, almost all the way out to the sidewalk. Dad and I stared as the spilled glass twinkled in the sunlight.

"Well," I said, not really able to tear my eyes from the scene. "Shit."

Dad was made of sterner stuff. "Okay, two questions. Three. Why were the PRT in my damn house? Why was someone taking broken glass _out_ of my house? And who's going to pay for my damn front step?" I had to admire his moxie; in less than twenty seconds, he'd gone from puzzlement to being on the attack. And it didn't matter that we both knew the step had been rotten for quite some time; the PRT had broken the step, so it was on them.

I glanced around and found Armsmaster, who was watching us. Or rather, while I couldn't see his eyes, I was certain he was watching Zach, who was standing alongside me, observing the show with that same cheerful smile. Trying not to grin too broadly, I raised my hand and beckoned the armoured hero over. While I would've preferred to work with Miss Militia, Armsmaster _was_ the ranking Protectorate hero, so I supposed he'd be the one to talk to under these circumstances.

Before he approached us, Armsmaster folded and racked his halberd, possibly to reduce the chance of Zach taking it from his hands. I couldn't see all that much of his face, but he wasn't smiling as he came over. Then again, I didn't really blame him for being pissed. "Can I help you, Miss Hebert?" he asked brusquely.

"You can help my dad," I said cheerfully. "Care to explain why the PRT is carting broken glass out the front door, and who's gonna be paying for that step?" I knew I was tweaking him, hard. Zach's presence beside me would prevent any retaliation, and getting a little petty payback was fun as _fuck._ His helmet twitched sideways, as if he were shooting a sharp glance at me. Unfortunately for his intimidation factor, I couldn't see his eyes. I smiled blandly back at him, pretending obliviousness.

After a moment, he turned his helmet toward Dad. It sounded as though his words were being dragged from him; one kicking, screaming syllable at a time. "When we initially thought that uh, Zachary was holding your daughter hostage in the house, the PRT staged a dynamic entry to capture him. In the process, several windows were broken. Your daughter has since prevailed upon the strike team commander to clean up the mess he made." He stopped speaking, his jaw tightening. I would've let it go after that, except that he'd missed something out.

"And the step?" I asked sweetly. "We all saw it. Commander Calvert broke it. Who pays?" I was being a little unfair on Armsmaster, but then again, the entire Protectorate had been massively unfair to Zach, right up until the point where he took out the Slaughterhouse Nine for them. Well, for _me,_ but they got to reap the benefits.

He took a deep breath and spoke rapidly. "That step gave way too easily -"

"Uh, uh." I held up a finger, and Zach moved forward half a step. That was all it took to shut Armsmaster up. "Care to go again?"

"I really do think that it is only fair that the Protectorate reimburses Taylor and her father for the cost of the broken step, and the windows that the soldiers broke." Zach could've been commenting on the weather for all the force he put into the statement, but Armsmaster flinched anyway. By now, Calvert had gotten up and was brushing himself off. I hoped that there would be footage of his pratfall online at some point.

"It's not my call," Armsmaster said reluctantly, then seemed to brighten. "However, once the reward money for the Nine clears, there'll be more than enough -"

"Nope." Belatedly, I realised that I'd interrupted him twice in thirty seconds. _Ah, fuck it. You only live once_. "You guys broke it, you guys pay for it. Whatever reward Zach's earned goes to him. How much is it, anyway?" In retrospect, asking that question was a mistake. After all, I knew the Nine had been racking up a body count—and a bounty—for longer than I'd been alive. I just didn't register exactly what that meant until Armsmaster spoke.

Which he did. "The reward adds up to thirty-four point one million dollars -"

My world wavered. I shook my head, blinking hard. "Excuse me, _what_ again?" _Thirty-four … thirty-four point … thirty-four point one …_ My brain had trouble encompassing the whole number, especially the world 'million' at the end. It was outside all my experience. I'd never seen a million of _anything._ "That's what Zach gets for … for taking out the Nine?" _Holy_ _ **crap.**_

With a vague sense of relief, I became aware that he was shaking his head. "No," he said. "You didn't let me finish. That's just the reward for Jack Slash. It appears that there were a lot of people who really wanted him dead." There was no amusement in his tone, or even any self-satisfaction. He was just relating facts to me. "The rest of the Nine, not having been active for as long, adds up to another sixty-five point three million dollars. Ninety-nine point four million in total." Yeah, just relating facts. Some damn facts.

The world went fuzzy, and I swayed again. I found that I could, in fact, imagine ninety-nine point four million dollars; I just couldn't imagine it going to someone I _knew._ To my relief, I felt Zach's arms steadying me. _He_ didn't seem to be fazed in the slightest. Dad, on the other hand, was leaning kind of hard on the car. "That's nearly a hundred million dollars!" I blurted. "Holy shit, is Zach worth nearly _a hundred million dollars_ now?" _And all for tossing a van fifteen hundred miles That's sixty thousand dollars per mile. Can you get frequent flyer points for that?_ I wanted to giggle, but I stopped myself in case I broke down into hysterical laughter.

"That would be the case, yes." Armsmaster nodded soberly. He hadn't even cracked a smile. "The money is being held in escrow. Due to the nature of most bounty claimants, it can be transferred on to a card which, uh, Zachary, can then use to move the funds into whatever banking arrangement he uses, outside of our purview." Most of that went over my head, due partly to my current state of sheer bogglement over how much money Zach now had to play with right now. "All he has to do is wait until the deaths are independently verified, then come in to the PRT building and claim the reward."

The confusion was beginning to clear from my brain at this point, to be immediately replaced by suspicion. "Uh, wait a minute. You guys still want to arrest him. What's stopping you from just grabbing him when he comes in to pick up his card?" I gave Armsmaster a hard stare. _I'm on to you._

Now he cracked a smile, or at least one corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Miss Hebert, I am not at all certain that we have anything that _can_ contain your friend, at least not on hand. Nor are we likely to start a fight with a cape of his versatility _inside_ the PRT building. And last, but most important, anyone picking up the reward for a kill order is automatically under truce while that's happening." His voice conveyed a matter of fact tone which reassured me more than any number of promises on bended knee. I didn't _like_ Armsmaster, but I didn't think he could lie all that easily.

Dad slapped Zachary on the shoulder. "Well done, kid. You're now independently wealthy." And wasn't _that_ the understatement of the year. "How's that feel?" To his credit, all I heard in his voice was genuine admiration.

"I do not know, Mr Hebert," Zach replied. With anyone else, I would've decided that they were putting on an act for sure. After all, who wouldn't go gaga over the _idea_ of getting ninety-nine-point-something _million_ dollars? But this was Zach's way; I didn't think for an instant that he was acting. To be honest, I didn't think he knew _how_ to act. "I have never had money before. I do not need money." He turned to me. "Taylor, I am giving this money to you."

My ears rang, and I became aware that my jaw was hanging open. "I … wha … _bwah?"_ The largest monetary gift I'd ever gotten (apart from my allowance, from Dad) was a fifty that Mr Barnes had slipped to me for my thirteenth birthday. Zach had just offered to make me a millionaire … nearly a hundred times over. _How do I even react to that?_ "Zach … you can't. I can't take that." Seconds after the words were out of my mouth, my brain rebelled. _No, not that way. The correct answer was 'Yes, please.' You idiot._ But I'd said it, and I couldn't take it back.

He stared at me, apparently puzzled. "Taylor does it not make you happy to have money? I want to make you happy." I felt a huge twinge of guilt at the look in his eyes. He'd had something that he wanted to give to me, and I'd thrown it back in his face. Did he think he'd hurt my feelings?

"No, no, it's not that," I hastened to explain, ruthlessly booting my brain into gear. "It's just that … it's very sweet, Zach, but I'm _fifteen._ I'm _far_ too young to be responsible for that sort of money." _I'm throwing away a hundred million dollars …_ My brain gibbered for a bit before I wrenched it back on track. "Thank you for offering, though. I really appreciate it." Putting my arms around him, I hugged him as tightly as I knew how. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

I felt the comforting pressure of his arms as he hugged me back. "I think I understand, Taylor." It was just typical. We were having a special moment, and he was still talking. To be honest, I couldn't really blame him; he was just a teensy bit oblivious when it came to things like that.

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "If you truly do not need the money …" I heard a muffled _clunk;_ when I looked over, Miss Militia was rubbing her elbow and glaring up at the armoured hero. "I was going to say, we could put it into a trust fund to be administered for you," he concluded hastily.

"I have a better idea." Zach sounded happy once more. "I do not need a trust fund, so I will give it to Taylor's father. He is old enough to be responsible with it. And with it, he can buy Taylor nice things."

I was still hugging him, so I had to pull back to look at his face. The smile on his face didn't tell me much, but we hadn't covered 'psych!' yet in jokes, so it probably wasn't a prank. Besides, I strongly doubted that he'd do something as mean-spirited as that. Then I turned to look at Dad's face, just as the full realisation of what Zach had said sank home. I would forever regret not having a camera handy; he looked even more stunned than when Armsmaster had revealed the size of the reward.

"You're … giving it to _me?"_ His voice rose at the end. "Just like that? A hundred million dollars?" He swayed on his feet, then reached out to steady himself on the car. "I—I don't know what to say." I wasn't sure what I could see in his eyes. Disbelief, for certain. Also, what looked a little like panic. I couldn't blame him. Having this sort of thing dumped on you out of the blue was amazingly like being deluged with ice water from nowhere. I knew exactly what _that_ felt like, courtesy of Emma and Sophia, and it was never pleasant.

"Say _yes,_ Dad," I urged him. "We can sort it all out later. Or give it back, if you want. Or, you know, get the ferry running again." _That_ got his attention. For years, he'd been doing his best to help keep the Dockworkers Association running on a shoestring budget. Now, with a hundred million to play with, he had so many more _options._ I saw his focus sharpen as he stared at Zach.

"You mean it?" His voice was firm, every word radiating purpose. "You'll give this money to me? You're _certain_ about it?" He was in control of himself once more, on top of the situation.

"Yes, sir." Zach was equally serious. "I do not need money. I know that you will be able to use it wisely." He looked at me. "Is that good, Taylor?" His expression was earnest, as if he honestly needed me to tell him the right thing to do.

 _Then again, he has no problem with killing people, so maybe it's a good idea that I'm here to tell him what to do._ "It's good," I assured him. "You did a really good thing here. Twice, even. And I'm sure that if you _do_ ever need anything, Dad'll buy it for you." I looked over at Armsmaster. "Your helmet's recording everything, isn't it?" Given Armsmaster's reputation as Brockton Bay's premier Tinker, I would've been astonished if it _wasn't._

He hesitated for only a moment. "Yes, Miss Hebert. Sound and video both. Why?" But I could tell from the tone of his voice that he'd already worked out the answer to that question. "You want me to be a witness if necessary." Well, nobody ever said he was _stupid._ A dick, yes. Stupid, no.

"You and Miss Militia both." I looked from him to the flag-adorned woman. "You're both reputable heroes. If anyone wants to query Zach giving Dad that money, I expect you to set them straight. I don't want Dad getting in trouble just because Zach felt like being nice." Not that I really thought that was going to happen—after all, who in his right mind would consider Dad being able to force Zach into doing _anything?—_ but I was fully aware that there were many mean-spirited people in the world, and the lure of a hundred million dollars was a huge temptation.

"If anyone says that I may not give Mr Hebert the money, then I will explain that they are wrong." Zach's tone was deceptively calm. "The only person who can tell me not to do something is Taylor. Did you record that, Armsmaster?" He was now looking at the Tinker with his usual smile.

"It's on record." Armsmaster's voice was matter of fact. "Do you mind if I ask you a question about that?" His posture and tone were still guarded, but I also heard curiosity there. Miss Militia looked a little wary, as if worried about what he might say.

"I do not mind if you ask questions." Zach's expression was as open and friendly as his voice. "If I do not know the answer, I can not answer it. If I do not like the question, I will not answer it." As he spoke, I leaned against him and put my arm around his waist in silent support. Facing off against two superheroes was kind of a unique experience for me. Or, at least it had been before this day. And, for a mercy, they were _listening_ instead of attacking.

Armsmaster nodded, as if verifying something. "Why do you only do what Taylor Hebert says? Are you under some kind of Master compulsion from her?" The way he phrased it caught me by surprise, especially with the kick in the teeth at the end. What _didn't_ surprise me was that it was him saying it. He'd already proven himself to be a dick that way.

Zach wasn't even fazed by the question. "No. Taylor Hebert is not a parahuman, and Master powers would not work on me even if she was. I do what she says because it is what I am here for. After all, you cannot say that she did not need help when I met her." He looked directly at Armsmaster as he said it, with none of the hesitation most people showed when they couldn't see the eyes of the person they were addressing.

"You can't be certain of either of those statements." Armsmaster sounded absolutely sure of himself. "It takes a thorough medical examination merely to determine whether someone _may_ be a parahuman, and those under Master influence are always the last to realise it. Also, nobody _ever_ thinks they can be Mastered, until they are." I suddenly realised what he was doing; unable to beat Zach physically, Armsmaster was trying to make him doubt himself. The trouble was, I didn't know how to protest what he was doing without sounding like I was confirming what he was saying. 'Of course I'm not Mastering him' was exactly what a Master would say, after all.

Zach surprised me, and I think everyone else, by laughing. I'd never heard him laugh before, and it sounded just a little like he was trying it out for the first time. The laughter died away in a chuckle, and he smiled once more at Armsmaster. "As my sister might say, that was almost cute. I suggest that you stick to being a Tinker. You are better at that." He nodded toward Dad, even as Miss Militia made a noise suspiciously like a snort. "Now, I have already stated that Mr Hebert is to receive the reward for the Slaughterhouse Nine. Please make sure that happens. I would be very unhappy if it did not." He left unspoken what would happen if he became unhappy. Given that he'd only stopped smiling a few times since I'd met him, I wasn't quite sure what this would be like. I suspected that 'unpleasant' would be a good starting point.

Miss Militia stepped forward. "Mr Hebert will get the reward. We'll make sure of it." I got the distinct impression that she didn't want to see what Zach did when he was unhappy. She probably didn't have as much faith as I did that he wouldn't kill anyone without my say-so. Or possibly she thought that if they stiffed us on the reward, I might order Zach to go on a killing spree. Some people might do that; as I'd already noted, a hundred million dollars was quite the incentive for bad behaviour. I wasn't one of them, but she couldn't know that.

"Good," said Zach. "I trust you." And that was that. "But I believe that we were going to be going down to the Boardwalk. Are we still going there? I was looking forward to seeing it." That was Zach all over. Once a subject was done with, he left it alone. Also, he was kind of single-minded. It was a trait I could definitely admire.

"Oh, sure." I looked at Dad. "Is it okay if we go? I kinda wanna get away from here for a bit. Miss Militia said she'd drive us." Then I turned to Armsmaster. "Is that still okay? I mean, do you need her for anything?" I knew very well that I was putting him between a rock and a hard place. The very last thing Armsmaster wanted to do, as far as I could tell, was leave me and Zach to our own devices. If someone tried to hurt me, Zach was likely to roll them into a ball and bounce them down the street. More to the point, he was perfectly _able_ to do just that. Armsmaster didn't want that happening, so I was more or less blackmailing him into sending Miss Militia with us. I personally didn't care if idiots got hurt, but if it meant I got bothered less, I was all for the idea.

"Yeah." Dad was eyeing the house, his expression intent. "I need to stay and make sure these morons leave everything _exactly_ the way they found it." Turning, he looked at Zach and me. "Zach? Keep Taylor safe, but don't punt anyone into orbit unless she okays it first, all right?" His tone was almost joking, but I caught the undertone of seriousness. I didn't think he really considered it possible for Zach to literally punt someone into orbit. Personally, I was keeping an open mind.

Zach nodded seriously. "Yes, Mr Hebert. I will not punt anyone into orbit unless Taylor says I can." Dad might've considered what he said to be a joke, but Zach definitely didn't. I grabbed Zach's hand and squeezed. I knew that I probably wouldn't have to try too hard to stop him, seeing that putting someone in orbit was pretty well an automatic death sentence.

As far as I was aware, that is. Uncomfortably, I began to wonder if Zach had a way of putting someone into orbit _without_ killing them. _Oh, well. He did say he'd check with me first._

"Now that's settled, I think it's time we went to the Boardwalk." Miss Militia's tone was also cheerful, but I detected an odd note of tension. I glanced around to see what I was missing, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing to cause her to be on edge. She was barely even looking at us; most of her attention appeared to be on the southern sky.

"Sure thing," I said, watching her closely. "Let's go." At my words, she seemed to relax just a little, which made me wonder. _What's going on here?_ It couldn't be an ambush; she'd _tried_ and it had blown up in her face, in no uncertain terms. Which meant that it wasn't that she wanted to get us _to_ a particular place, so much as that she wanted to get us away from here. _But why?_

We climbed into one of the remaining PRT vans. It was definitely well worth the two hundred thousand price tag, given that the bench seat in front allowed all three of us to sit side by side in comfort. "I might get Dad to spring for a replacement for the one that Zach threw at the Nine," I commented as I put my seatbelt on. Zach, sitting in the middle, didn't bother.

"While the gesture would be appreciated, it wouldn't really be necessary," she replied with a chuckle. Turning the key elicited a deep rumbling engine noise that sounded like it could drive the van straight up a vertical cliff face. She let the clutch in and put the vehicle in gear. "We have a budget for just this sort of thing. And considering the resources that have gone into killing members of the Nine before, one van is relatively cheap." We trundled off down the road in the general direction of the Boardwalk. "So where would you like to go? And do you mind if I ask Zachary some questions while we drive?"

 _Is this why she was so anxious to get going? So she could interrogate Zach?_ "Uh, somewhere near Fugly Bob's, I guess. I'm getting hungry again, and I'm pretty sure I could do with some grease and salt. And it's up to Zach if he wants to answer questions." I gave him a sideways glance. "Despite what he seems to think, I'm not his lord and master." My left hand found his right, and I squeezed it to show that I wasn't upset with him or anything. The whole 'there to make me happy' thing managed to weird me out and strike me as amazingly cool, all at once.

"Of course you are not, Taylor." He squeezed my hand reassuringly. "You are simply the reason for my existence. I am here to help you be happy." Which wasn't exactly news to me, except for the 'reason for my existence' bit. I would've brushed it off as male hype, but Zach didn't really _do_ male hype. Maybe it was another one of his jokes, only a little more obscure? "If you wish to ask me questions, Miss Militia, I will answer them unless I decide that I do not want to." _That_ was plain enough.

"Fair enough." She was silent for a moment, the distant thunder of the engine filling the cab. When she spoke, her voice was thoughtful. "You've mentioned a brother and a sister. Are they capes as well? And _why_ are you here to help Taylor?" She didn't look around as she wrestled the large wheel from one side to the other, but I could tell she was paying close attention to Zach all the same.

* * *

 **Danny**

* * *

Danny watched the van roll out of sight, then turned to Armsmaster. "Okay, what happens now?" He could see that the PRT troopers were starting to pack gear back into their vans. Now that the 'dangerous parahuman' was no longer on site, the Protectorate forces were also starting to disperse. However, the armoured hero didn't seem to be in any hurry to move.

"We wait," Armsmaster said bluntly. "For the cleanup and repair on your house, and for one other thing." He gestured to the south. "The Director is on the way." Which struck Danny as odd. Why would Director Piggot attend a situation like this in person? After all, it was more or less all said and done.

"Why?" Danny could be blunt, too. "She doesn't need to come here to give me the reward. I can just as easily collect it from the PRT building." In fact, he was reasonably sure that there would be a certain amount of paperwork to complete before the reward was safe in his bank account. _Reward? Holy crap. Windfall!_ He'd managed to successfully forget the specifics of the reward for a few moments, but now it was coming back again. When he had a moment of privacy, he was going to be making a cup of coffee with a good slug of Jameson's whiskey in it. Or maybe two.

"Director Piggot has been … overridden," Armsmaster stated, his lips thinning slightly. "Director Tagg is coming in from Washington to take over the … situation." He didn't like it, Danny could tell. But he'd see this situation before; Armsmaster was a loyal company man who'd follow orders to the end, no matter his personal thoughts on the matter.

"You mean, this situation with Zachary and Taylor." Danny saw Armsmaster twitch. _Bingo._ "Well, I wish him the best of luck. Between the two of them, I can't see _anyone_ making them do anything they don't want to do." He tried not to smile, but it wasn't easy. Taylor had been deriving an unseemly amount of amusement from the PRT's apparent collective inability to find their backsides with two maps and a compass, and he could see why. With Zach at her side, she could tell them to take a long walk off of a short pier, and had been doing almost exactly that ever since this situation had begun.

Armsmaster shaded his eyes with his hand. Danny could see nothing, but he thought he heard helicopter rotors. In a few moments, this became a certainty. As the aircraft came into view, Armsmaster turned to Danny. "One more thing. Director Tagg is a little reactionary. I would advise discretion when talking to him." He turned away, leaving a sudden sinking feeling simmering in Danny's guts.

 _Did he just call his commanding officer a loose cannon?_ It wasn't a comfortable thought at all.

The PRT soldiers, apparently following unheard orders, moved their vans up and down the road until there was a clear space in which to land the helicopter. Danny watched, holding up a hand to protect his face from flying pebbles, kicked up by the downwash. It came in for a fast, slick landing, leaving Danny to ponder that the pilot had possibly done this in combat situations before now. But he didn't have too much time to think about it, because the side door slammed open and a uniformed man climbed out. The newcomer was dressed in what looked more like a military uniform than the PRT troopers had on, for all that he had the PRT emblem on his lapels. He also had medal ribbons on his chest; Danny had no idea what they meant, but he had a lot of them. He also looked pissed, or perhaps that was just his natural expression.

Armsmaster stood to attention as the uniformed man approached. Neither of them saluted, but the newcomer looked Armsmaster up and down. "Armsmaster." Danny read TAGG on the man's nametag, which only confirmed what Armsmaster had said.

That got a nod. "Director Tagg." Armsmaster didn't sound happy, or sad. Or anything, really. His voice was absolutely neutral.

"I'll be taking over this scene. What's going on, and why is this civilian not back beyond the perimeter?" Tagg stared at Danny as if at a speck of dirt on his immaculately polished brass. Danny felt his temper rising, but restrained himself. The PRT _might_ not shoot him for slugging this asshole, but he didn't want to chance it.

"I'm Danny Hebert," he said before Armsmaster could say a word. _I can do_ _ **some**_ _things for myself._ "My daughter's the one who was victimised before Zachary saved her." He held out his hand to shake. "I'm pleased to meet you, Director Tagg." _No sense in not being polite to the new guy._

Tagg's glare didn't abate in the slightest. Ignoring the proffered hand, he pointed at Danny and addressed the nearest PRT soldiers. "Place this man under arrest. The charges are aiding and abetting, accessory to attempted murder, and whatever else we find when I start digging."

"Wait, what?" Tagg's instant judgement shocked Danny out of the feeling of mild complacency he'd let himself drift into. "No, you idiot! My daughter's the _victim!_ We had it all sorted out!" He saw the PRT troopers glancing at one another, as if unsure of what to do.

Tagg ignored Danny's words, just as he'd ignored his hand. "You and you." The newcomer gestured at the two nearest troopers. "Arrest this civilian, or you're on a charge. That's an order. _Now_ , goddamn it!"

That jolted them into action. They stepped forward and efficiently grabbed Danny's arms. He was too shocked at the sudden turn of events to resist meaningfully. "This is bullshit! Armsmaster! _Tell_ him!"

"Director -" began Armsmaster.

Tagg held up a hand to stop him. "Not another word. You're obviously compromised. Report to the PRT building for Master/Stranger screening." Armsmaster began to speak again; Tagg held up his hand once more. "That's a direct order, mister."

Seething, his hands cuffed behind his back, Danny watched as Armsmaster walked off stiffly toward his motorbike. Nor did he miss the gleam in Tagg's eye. The man obviously enjoyed throwing his weight around.

 _I should've decked him when I had the chance._

* * *

 **Taylor**

* * *

"I have two brothers and one sister," Zach said cheerfully. "They are all older than me. They are not capes, but you may even have met them." He tilted his head to one side. "Yes, my sister says that you have met them all." Blithely, he changed subjects. "As for helping Taylor -"

"Wait." Miss Militia cut him off. "Get back to your brothers and sister. I've _met_ them? And you're communicating with them _right now?_ Who _are_ they?" Her voice held a certain amount of tension, which wasn't exactly surprising under the circumstances. This was something I'd been curious about as well.

Zach looked at her with a certain amount of puzzlement. If it was feigned, he was really good at putting it on. "You mean that you have not figured it out? My sister is the Simurgh, and my brothers are Behemoth and Leviathan. I was created to protect Taylor Hebert and keep her safe."

Miss Militia jammed on the brakes of the van. I felt them lock up and the vehicle began to screech to a halt; as it did so, I was thrown forward on to the seat belt with some force. Horns blared behind us, then a car swerved around the van, missing us by inches. Zach didn't shift at all in his seat; he placed his hand on my arm, and I found myself sitting comfortably as the van came to a complete stop in the middle of the street, just short of an intersection. Even as the vehicle rocked to a halt, Miss Militia turned to face us. "Say that again, please?" If I'd thought her voice was tense before, now you could've carved it with a chainsaw.

"Do you really wish to talk about this right now?" Zach seemed more intent than normal. "There are more important matters you might be interested to know about." His demeanour had me puzzled; normally, he was extremely outgoing with anything he had to say. The mention of 'more important matters' got my attention, especially seeing as what he'd just said to her was just an extension of his 'I am an Endbringer' joke.

But Miss Militia didn't see it that way. She probably wouldn't, not until I explained the punchline to her anyway. "Let's talk about what you just said," she stated quietly. "I'd rather hear about that first."

"Of course," Zach said brightly. I began to grin. "My sister -"

For the second time in less than a minute, he was interrupted. This time, it was by Hookwolf as he bowled through the intersection, not twenty feet in front of us, followed by a blast of fire.

That got _everyone's_ attention.

* * *

End of Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

Part Six: A Bumpy Ride

* * *

 _[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]_

* * *

"Oh, crap." Miss Militia peered into the rear-vision mirror and started to reverse. There was the honk of a horn behind us and she hit the brakes again. Too late; something went _crunch_ into the van from the rear, and we were jolted forward a couple of feet. The engine stalled and died. Somewhere off in the distance, I heard an explosion, though I was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the engine dying.

"Crap, crap, _crap."_ Even as Miss Militia tried to restart the van, she grabbed up the microphone to the two-way radio and held it next to her mouth. "Control, this is PRT one niner four, Miss Militia plus two civs. We're at the intersection of Bakersfield and Phoenix, and there's an ongoing cape fight here. I make it as Hookwolf versus Lung. Casualties unknown as yet. Requesting urgent backup, over." Letting her thumb off the button, she turned her head fractionally toward me. "Don't worry, Miss Hebert. I'll get us out of this." There was another explosion in the distance. Was Lung setting cars on fire to explode the fuel tanks?

The van's engine burst into life with a roar, but when she put it into gear, the engine whined and we went exactly nowhere. "Um, it feels like we're stuck," I said, more from a need to show that I knew what was going on than to state the obvious. Then I had an inspiration. "Zach, you're strong. Could you untangle us from whatever we're stuck to? Without hurting anyone?" That was just in case the driver of the car behind got upset at him. I didn't _think_ he'd lash out if he was insulted, but I didn't want to take the chance, for the other guy's sake.

"Yes, Taylor, I can." Zach was already unfastening his seatbelt as he spoke. "But there are more parahumans on site than just Hookwolf and Lung. Oni Lee and Cricket are also in the vicinity, and people have been hurt. Some are trapped in rubble. Do you wish to help them?"

"No!" snapped Miss Militia. "My primary goal is to get Taylor to safety. _Then_ we'll see what we can do about stopping the fight, or at least establish a perimeter until backup can arrive." She jerked her head toward the rear of the van. "If you can get us unstuck, that'd be very useful."

The radio crackled. _"Control to Miss Militia. Do not engage. Return to site of last incident. The Director wishes to speak to you, over."_

With a less than pleased expression, she went to speak on the radio again. I caught Zach's eye and pointed toward the back of the van. "Better do what she says," I whispered. Leaning back, I found that there was enough room in the front for Zach to climb out past me along the bench seat without any real awkwardness. To make it easier for him, I opened the door to let him get out. After his feet hit the ground, he closed the door behind him. About that time, I heard another explosion.

"Miss Militia to Control." Her voice was low and steady, showing only the faintest signs of the stress she had to be under at this point. "Update on the fight situation. I've been reliably informed that Oni Lee and Cricket are on site as well. Also, there are civilian casualties and people trapped by debris. Please let the Director know that this is an ongoing crisis situation and whatever he wants to talk to me about can _wait._ Send backup urgentmost. _Over."_

The van lurched and I heard the tearing of metal. I leaned forward to try to see if I could spot Zach in the rear-vision mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something appear in front of the van, so I turned my head to look.

It was Oni Lee.

As I watched, frozen, he rolled two round objects _under_ the front of our van. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit._ I knew exactly what they were: Oni Lee was infamous for using grenades. What I _didn't_ know was how well-armoured PRT vans were. Either way, I was pretty sure that two grenades would leave a mark.

" _Shit!"_ Miss Militia screamed the word. In one fluid movement (it was almost as if she'd practised it, though I couldn't imagine that it was a common situation) she undid her seatbelt and flung herself across to cover me. At the same time, she fired three rapid shots through the windshield with the high-powered pistol she was holding in her left hand. The bullet-holes crazed the windshield, sending it instantly opaque so I couldn't see Oni Lee any more. Worse, I couldn't hear anything at all; the three shots had echoed horrifically inside the closed van, leaving me with a loud ringing in my ears.

Abruptly, the entire van lurched, or maybe that was my sense of balance going, along with my hearing. I had no idea which way was up; it felt like I was lying on the back of my seat rather than sitting on the cushion. Distantly, I felt the heavy thump of a concussion. _The grenades,_ I decided fuzzily. I didn't know why we weren't dead, but I _was_ glad of that fact.

The van tilted crazily again, then all of a sudden up was up once more. I felt the van bounce heavily on its wheels. Moments later, Zach opened the door that he'd gotten out by. "Miss Militia!" he said brightly. "Are you well?"

"I think so," she said. Weirdly enough, while his voice had cut cleanly through the ringing in my ears, hers was still muffled to my hearing. "What just happened?" Letting me go, she sat up in her seat and rubbed at her ears.

"The grenades would have hurt Taylor, so I lifted the van out of the way," he replied cheerfully. "But I think the van is damaged now. And there are more people who need help."

"Rule number one of dealing with Lung and Hookwolf," Miss Militia mumbled—at least, it sounded like a mumble to me. "They don't hold back. We can't go in there to rescue civilians until we have someone engaging them." She pressed the heel of her hand against her ear. "And I'm not up to engaging them right now."

"I will engage them so that you may rescue people," Zach offered happily. "Taylor, am I allowed to kill them?"

I was so glad I was looking at Miss Militia's face right then, because it's not often that you get to see a picture-perfect jaw-drop. Even when it's concealed by a scarf.

" … engage _all four_ of them?" she sputtered, once she'd regained the power of speech. "You can't be … uhh …" It was obvious, as her voice wound down, that she'd just recalled Zach's previous exploits.

"Serious?" I finished for her with a grin. "Zach can get _real_ serious when he needs to. Is he allowed to kill them? I think it would make life a lot easier for everyone without them."

"Shit." Miss Militia grimaced and reached for the radio microphone. "I can't make that decision in the field." Holding it to her mouth, she pressed the button. "Miss Militia to Control. Requesting permission to use lethal force against hostile capes Lung, Hookwolf, Cricket and Oni Lee, over." There was no answer. She leaned closer to look at the radio. "Dammit. The explosions must've wrecked the electrics." Heaving a sigh, she turned to Zach. "Okay, if you can take them down non-lethally, do it, but if they threaten lives, use all the force you need."

Zach didn't move. I looked at him quizzically, then realised he was waiting on my confirmation. "Oh. Right. Zach, do what she said, okay?"

"Okay!" he responded cheerfully, and tore the door off the van. Turning, he threw it like a frisbee. Unfortunately, because the windshield was opaque due to Miss Militia's shots, I didn't see who he was throwing it at. I did, however, hear the _crunch_ as it impacted. "It is now safe to get out and help people. I will engage the other parahumans."

Miss Militia opened her door and got out of the van. I did the same on the passenger side, without having to open the door first of course. Zach was trotting toward where the sounds of battle were starting to filter through my still-ringing ears.

"Every time I look at him, I see a kid in over his head," she said, setting out for where a telephone pole had fallen over a car. "It's only when I think about it for a few seconds that I remember just how stupidly powerful he is. Why is that?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I don't have that problem. He's sweet and a bit clueless, but he wouldn't hurt a fly unless it threatened to harm me. And he has the _weirdest_ sense of humour." I chuckled. "Like the Endbringer thing. Isn't that _hilarious?"_ Leaning down, I looked through the car window. "Hi, mister. Are you hurt?"

The car's driver, a youngish man who looked to be somewhat shocked, tentatively shook his head. "No," he managed. "But my door won't open. And the other door …" He gestured expressively at where the pole had crunched the door down to about one foot high.

"So I see," said Miss Militia. "Just hold still, sir." She held out her hand, and a bizarre amalgam of sword and crowbar formed in it. Wedging one of the random-looking points into where the door met the car, she heaved. Metal creaked, then gave way. All of a sudden, the door sprang open. The guy climbed out, appearing more than a little shaky.

"Thanks," he said fervently. "Uh, do you need help doing that?"

"No," Miss Militia told him. "Get to safety. Now." The tone of her voice allowed for no argument.

As he took off running, I looked at her in surprise. "What'd you do that for? He could've helped."

"And gotten himself hurt in the process," she pointed out. "I can take care of myself, and I strongly suspect Zachary will prioritise saving you over everything else. That guy didn't have either advantage."

"Huh." _I guess she has a point_. It just sounded weird having her put it like that. "What is that thing, anyway?" I gestured at the thing she was holding.

She chuckled. "Do you know, I never actually learned its name. But I saw a picture of it once. Apparently it was designed to rip open plate armour to get at the man inside. It also seems to work well on car doors." She made a disapproving noise in her throat as we headed toward a pile of rubble where the front of a building had been blown out. "Dammit, can't those assholes pick an empty field to have their dick-measuring contests in?"

Despite the danger, I couldn't help but find that amusing. The more time I spent with Miss Militia, the more I liked her. "And remove every property developer's reason to live?" I asked, not at all seriously. Bending down, I picked up a length of rebar to match Miss Militia's crowbar/sword thingy. "Okay, he said there were people trapped – shit!"

At that moment, several things happened in very quick succession. Firstly, Oni Lee appeared in front of us … again. In each hand, he held a grenade … _again_. In a bizarre case of _deja vu_ , these appeared to be the same two grenades he'd thrown under the van. Miss Militia said something in a language I didn't recognise (but the savagery almost certainly made it a swear-word) as she changed her sword into a pistol. Eyes wide, I froze.

But before anything else happened, Zach blurred into view. He stopped with his hand up under Oni Lee's demon mask, apparently wrapped around the man's throat. "Hello, Oni Lee!" His tone was as carefree as ever. "This is the second time that you have threatened Taylor's life! I will not allow you to do it a third time!"

If I wasn't so frozen with fear, I could've told Zach what was going to happen next. Were I a soulless serial killer like Oni Lee, it was what I would've done. And sure enough, Oni Lee did it. He dropped the grenades, more or less right at our feet.

The next few seconds were a blur. Zach's arm was around my waist, and I had the impression of moving _really, really_ fast. Then I was standing on my feet again, shaking my head to clear the dizziness from it as Zach let go of me. Miss Militia was only a foot or two away from me, and I realised that Zach had grabbed her with his other arm. Zach disappeared from behind me while I was still finding my balance, then returned with a struggling Oni Lee, holding him by the throat at arm's length. _Then_ the two grenades exploded, about a hundred feet away.

"Taylor, Oni Lee has tried to kill you twice now," he said. He wasn't smiling any more. Oni Lee reached for a grenade on his bandoleer, but Zach slapped his hand away, accompanied by the sound of a breaking bone. It seemed he was done with being gentle. "What should I do with him?"

I wasn't exactly the number one member of the Oni Lee fan club at the moment. I watched as the killer tried to reach for the pistol at his hip with his other hand, only for Zach to break that hand too. Dad's words came back to me. "Zach, can you punt him into orbit?"

It seemed I'd said exactly what he wanted to hear, for a broad smile spread across Zach's face. "Of course, Taylor. I thought you would never ask."

Oni Lee was twitching oddly in Zach's grasp. As I kept my eyes on him, I saw bits of ash drifting down from his body, but he wasn't collapsing into a mass of it, as I'd heard he could do. He kicked futilely at Zach, with as little effect as a child kicking a brick wall.

In return, Zach brought back his leg, then swung it forward with eye-defying speed. There was a loud CRACK, coming perhaps a fraction of a second before his foot actually made contact. The odd thing was, it didn't impair my hearing in the same way that Miss Militia's pistol shots had. On impact, the black-clad villain disappeared upward faster than my eyes could focus; in much less than a second, he was out of sight. _Wait—did his foot just break the_ _ **sound barrier**_ _?_

Miss Militia winced, holding her hand over her ear. I realised the noise had nearly deafened her again, even though it hadn't affected me. "Zach." Her voice was loud, and a little nasal. "Did you actually just punt him into _orbit?_ Really?"

"Yes, Miss Militia," Zach answered happily. "That is what Taylor told me to do." He looked and sounded very pleased with himself. "That was _fun."_

"So … you just killed him." Miss Militia wriggled her finger in her ear. It didn't seem to help very much. "He was a defeated enemy, and you killed him."

"Oh, no, I did not kill him at all," Zach explained. "Taylor did not say that I could. My sister is already taking care of him for me. Although she finds him a little dull, and cannot see the point in keeping him alive." He brightened again. "Is _she_ allowed to kill him?"

Miss Militia caught my eye and shook her head slightly. "I guess not," I said, not without a certain amount of regret; the grenades were still very fresh in my memory. Shading my eyes, I stared upward in the vague hope of seeing Zach's sister, but there was nothing but the blue dome of the sky, with a few clouds as artistic decorations. "So, I'm guessing your sister is as talented as you are." Zach could be pretty damn effective when he wanted to be. I wouldn't have put it past the rest of his family to be just as formidable.

"Well, yes." He gave me an approving nod. "I have already told you who she is."

"You have?" I frowned, until I recalled what he'd said about his family. "Ah. Heh. Good one, Zach. Wow, you really know how to milk a joke, don't you?" Of course, it was still very funny.

Miss Militia frowned. "I'm … not sure I'm getting the humour here."

I rolled my eyes in her direction. "I taught Zach how to make jokes, so he told me one about how he's really an Endbringer, and that Behemoth is his big brother. Following that train of logic, that makes the Simurgh his sister. So when he says his sister's taking care of Oni Lee, we're supposed to think the Simurgh's got hold of him. He's just carrying on the joke a bit further. Get it?"

"Oh, right," she said, her face clearing. "Thanks for explaining that to me. I might not have gotten it without saying something embarrassing."

"Yeah," I agreed with a wry grin. "I guess it'll take us actually meeting his family to get past that particular joke."

"Mm," said Miss Militia thoughtfully. "I mean, it's a good joke, but all it'd take is one person taking it seriously and raising a panic to screw it for everyone else." She watched as Zach trotted down the street and around the corner.

"He does only mean it in fun," I assured her. "If it looked like going bad, he'd make sure everyone knew the truth. Zach's pretty responsible that way." I cupped my hand around my ear. My hearing was only just beginning to come back again, but even I could hear noises of battle from the direction Zach had gone. No explosions though; I figured the earlier ones must've been from Oni Lee's grenades. He'd certainly been tossing them out freely enough.

"Come on," suggested Miss Militia. "Let's go save some people."

On our trek back toward the pile of rubble where Oni Lee had attacked us, I saw something that made me pause. "Hey, over there!" I pointed at where I could see a pair of legs sticking out from a car's shattered windshield.

Miss Militia nodded approvingly. "Good eye, Taylor. Let's see what happened here." Reforming the crowbar-sword weapon in her hand, she led the way over.

"Is it just me," I asked when we got a bit closer, "or does that door look kind of familiar?" The door I was referring to was stuck in the same windshield, directly above the legs. Its paint job was the same pale purple and black that marked all PRT vehicles, and it looked _amazingly_ like the one Zach had ripped off the van just a little while ago. Right down to the finger-marks he'd pressed into it while doing the ripping.

"It does indeed," she said. "Okay, so who did he throw the door at, and why?" She approached the car cautiously, weapon shifting back to a pistol. "He wouldn't throw it at an innocent … would he?"

"No!" I shook my head violently. "He knows I'd be unhappy about that. You've _seen_ how he bends over backward to make me happy." I thought back to the earlier conversation in the van. "He _did_ say that Cricket and Oni Lee were on site as well. We saw him deal with Oni Lee. What if this is Cricket?"

"I'd say well done to him," she replied. "I've tangled with Cricket more than once. She's very slippery and hard to hit. I've seen her dodge bullets, and she screws with your perceptions while you're trying to shoot at her." Waving for me to stay back with the hand holding the pistol, she leaned forward and opened the car door.

Inside was … well, Cricket. I could tell by the bent metal cage around her head. She was folded around the PRT van door in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. Also, she looked extremely unconscious, or perhaps dead; I wasn't sure which. "Um …" I grimaced. "Is she still alive?" For all my cavalier talk about killing villains earlier, I discovered I still wasn't totally on board with the idea of wily-nilly executions.

Miss Militia cautiously reached into the car and checked Cricket's pulse. "Huh. Either she's tougher than she looks, or Zach's _really_ good at what he does. Pulse is strong and steady. Good. She gets to spend time behind bars. Also, in physiotherapy; that _can't_ be good for her spine."

"How do we even get her out?" I asked. "I can't see how to do it in a way that won't hurt her."

"We don't," she decided. "That's a job for dedicated rescue crews. Right now, we need to search for _innocent_ victims."

Just at that moment, I thought I heard Zach whisper my name. Wondering how he'd snuck up on us, I turned my head. But he wasn't where I thought he'd be. It took me a second to find him, all the way down the far end of the street. Even though it was at least three blocks away, I could see him clearly as he stepped in between Hookwolf and Lung. I held my breath as the Empire Eighty-Eight enforcer lunged for him, only to release it when Zach responded with a casual backhand. It might've been my imagination, but I thought I felt the concussion from where I was. I certainly _heard_ it well enough.

So did Miss Militia; she turned her head just in time to see Hookwolf fly past the car—past _us—_ on his way down the street in a flat ballistic arc. As he went by, I watched him shed pieces of steel like dandruff. Or like one of those cartoon characters that's just been punched out of his socks and shoes. A block further on, he hit the back of a van that was parked on the side of the road; after smashing through the rear doors, he came to rest half in and half out of the vehicle. Above the hole he'd made was the logo of the organisation that owned the vehicle: BROCKTON BAY DOG CATCHING SERVICE.

Miss Militia made an amused sound in her throat. "Fitting," she chuckled, looking across at me. "Zach _does_ have a flair for the dramatic." A concerned look came over her face. "But I'm not sure how he's going to do against Lung."

I snorted. "I think you'd be better off worrying how _Lung's_ going to go against _him._ Remember how he took out the Nine?" In my mind, there was not a shred of a doubt that Zach would prevail.

"Right!" Miss Militia exclaimed in enlightened tones. Her hand rose toward her face, then fell away in what I suspected was an aborted face-palm. "How did I forget about _that?"_

"Or how he bitch-slapped Assault all the way to Boston," I supplied helpfully. "He's not _totally_ incapable, you know."

This time, Miss Militia _did_ face-palm. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I _don't forget_ stuff like this. How is it even happening? Does he have a Stranger power?"

"Uh, no, how can he?" I spread my hands. "He's not a parahuman, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Huh." Miss Militia rubbed the back of her head. "Sorry, it slipped my mind. Stupid of me."

"That's okay. Ooh, Lung's going for him." At that moment, I wished I had popcorn. Three blocks away, Lung gathered himself. Ten feet tall, covered in metal scales and wreathed in flames, the leader of the ABB looked terrifying even from where I was. He crouched, his draconic tail whipping from side to side, then leaped. Miss Militia gasped; just for a second, I felt the tiniest stab of fear for Zach.

But of course, Zach knew what he was doing. He _blurred_ out of the way, instants before Lung's claws would have made contact. When he became visible again, he was holding Lung by the tail. Bracing himself, he heaved up and over. As Lung was lifted off his feet, he went over Zach's head and was smashed into the asphalt on the other side of where Zach was standing. And then again, and again. Over and over, Zach used Lung's tail as a lever to pummel the draconic cape into the roadway like a rag doll being thrown around by a petulant child.

Over the sound of the repeated impacts, I heard the noise of a shutter clicking. Miss Militia, I saw, had a small camera to her eye, taking picture after picture with it. I decided I was going to be asking her for a copy or three, once we were done here. Watching Zach make Lung eat asphalt like that was _never_ going to get old.

Then Lung roared, rattling the windows of the car we were standing next to. I couldn't be sure from the distance, but it looked like he was maybe twice as tall as Zach now. Grabbing the crushed roadway with three clawed appendages—two feet and one hand—he reached for my protector with the fourth. In response, Zach took a fresh grip on Lung's tail with both hands and hauled him into the air. Using the resultant momentum, he started swinging the dragon cape around his head like an Olympic hammer throw competitor.

"Wait one goddamn minute." Despite the disbelieving tone to her voice, Miss Militia never stopped taking photos as she spoke. "Okay, he's strong. But there's no _goddamn_ way he's got the leverage to do that!" I would've agreed with her, except that even now, Lung's form had blurred into a horizontal metallic disc over Zach's head.

Shading my eyes, I peered more closely. "Uh, now he's doing it with one hand." Without my glasses, I would've been short-sighted. With them, I had normal vision, but even then I shouldn't have been able to see that sort of detail at three hundred yards. With a mental shrug, I dismissed the thought; it was much cooler watching Zach take Lung down if I didn't worry about that sort of thing.

At the last minute, Zach put an upward angle on the spin, then released him like a hammer-thrower. Lung cleared the nearest building by mere feet. The last I saw of the ABB leader, he was hurtling head-first through the air in the general direction of the Boardwalk. His roar dopplered into the distance until I couldn't hear it at all.

Slowly, Miss Militia lowered the camera. "I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it," she breathed. "Who _is_ Zach? _What_ is he?"

I smirked. "If you want to go along with the joke, you can say he's an Endbringer." The smirk morphed into a chuckle.

Miss Militia snorted. "Yes, well, that _would_ fit, wouldn't it?" Slowly, she shook her head. "That has to be the shortest time on record that Lung's stood up to _anyone._ And that _includes_ Endbringers."

Somehow, this didn't surprise me. "Well, this _is_ Zach." I looked over to where the boy in question was jogging toward us. While he didn't appear to be moving all that fast, the speed with which he arrived alongside us made me rethink my preconceptions.

"It is safe now," he informed us proudly. "The villains are either gone or disabled."

"I see," Miss Militia noted. "So where did you put Lung?"

"There is an island ten miles offshore," Zach said. "He landed there a moment ago. I do not think that he will try to swim back unaided."

Miss Militia grimaced. "Doesn't really help, kid. If we send a boat out, he'll overcome whoever goes. Especially if he has a chance to ramp up first."

"Oh, that will not be a problem," Zach told her happily. "His powers have been neutralised for the next twenty-four hours. I believe you should be able to have him in custody by then?"

"I … right," responded Miss Militia faintly. "Of course." She rolled her eyes briefly. "Well, now that's sorted, we've got injured and trapped civilians to rescue. Can you help us with this?"

Unusually for him, Zach looked pensive. "I would like to, but there is an issue that Taylor would probably like to resolve first." He looked at me. "I am sorry for not telling you this earlier, but more people may have been harmed with the battle, and you would not have been happy for that to happen."

I frowned warily. "Zach, stopping these guys was pretty damn important. So's rescuing the innocents. What's the other issue?"

Zach looked me straight in the eye. "Your father has been put under arrest by the PRT Director."

I stared at him. "Wait … what? Why? How come you didn't _tell_ me?" _Dad's under_ _ **arrest**_ _? What the_ _ **fuck**_ _?_

"Taylor, your father is unharmed. At worst, he is angry at the Director." Zach's voice was soothing. "He has been placed under arrest on suspicion of being an accessory to my actions. I did not tell you until now because you were placing a high importance on stopping the villains. Now that that has been drawn to a conclusion, we have the wherewithal to focus all your energy toward the new problem."

I didn't know whether it was the logic of his explanation or the sincere way in which he expressed it, but I felt myself calming down. " … right. Okay, so how do we get there? Miss Militia, is the van running?"

The flag-clad hero shook her head. "After the beating it took, I'm not so sure. Zach, can you get her where she needs to go? I need to stay and help."

"Yes, Miss Militia," declared Zach. "I can get her there quickly and safely."

I felt a surge of guilt. "I want to stay and help too, but it's my _Dad."_

"No, you have to go." Miss Militia patted me on the shoulder. "Family is very important; I know that for a fact. Go and help your father."

"Okay, sure. And thanks." I turned to Zach. "Are we going to be jumping again? Jumping's fun."

"We will not be jumping," Zach replied. "I know the way now, so we will be running. Are you ready?"

"Sure," I said. This time I was prepared as he scooped me up in his arms. I was quite proud of the fact that I didn't even let out a squeak of surprise. "So, uh, running. How fa—"

– _BLUR–_

I blinked as my eyes came back into focus. My words stuttered on my lips. "—st, uh, are you … holy shit." In the back of my mind, I had the memory of a montage of streets and buildings going by at a frankly impossible speed. Where I'd been on a battle-torn street with Miss Militia, Zach was now letting me down on to the road outside my house. The PRT helicopter was new. Zach had literally gotten me there in less time than it took to say a single word. Ironically, that word was 'fast'.

My knees were a little wobbly, but Zach was right there to lean against. "Wow," I muttered. "Warn a girl next time, will you?"

"Yes, Taylor," he agreed. "I will warn you the next time we are going to exceed the speed of sound."

"Good," I said, just before what he'd said caught up with me. "Wait, _what_ now? And why is there a helicopter on my street?"

"It is not important," he advised me. "This man is important."

'This man', as indicated by Zach, was one I had not met before. He was tall and rangy, with greying hair and a thousand-yard stare. His uniform looked more military than the standard PRT trooper armour, and he had a lot of colourful ribbons on his chest. At that moment, he was striding toward me with a dozen PRT troopers flanking him.

Well, flashy medal ribbons or not, if this guy was the important one, he was the one I'd be asking the questions of. "Hey!" I called out to him. "Are you the idiot who just arrested my dad? Because I'm gonna be wanting him back. As in, right fucking now."

He ignored my question. "Taylor Hebert?" he asked as he got within twenty feet of me. I could see the nametag on his uniform by now; it read TAGG. His voice was a harsh smoker's rasp.

"Yeah, that's me," I said. "But you didn't answer -"

"Place both these individuals under arrest," he interrupted. "Now!"

Two of the PRT troopers moved forward with alacrity, while the others hung back. I wasn't totally surprised; they'd seen what Zach could do, first-hand. The two moving in on me, I guessed, were new on the scene.

"Uh, you really don't wanna do that," I cautioned them as they came up to us.

"Yeah, we'll be the judge of that, kid." The trooper sounded bored as he pulled my wrists behind me. "You got the right to remain silent -"

I rolled my eyes. "Zach, don't hurt them, okay? They don't know what they're doing."

"I will not hurt them," Zach confirmed. He turned to the guy who was trying to cuff him and shoved him so hard that the trooper fell over and skidded fifty feet down the road, the metal accoutrements on his armour striking sparks off the asphalt. Then Zach turned to the guy on me. "Release her at once, or I will make you release her."

"Holy _crap!"_ The trooper leaped away from us, leaving handcuffs dangling from one of my wrists. "Cape! Fuckin' _Brute!"_ He unslung his rifle and pointed it at Zach. "Down on the ground _now!_ Hands behind your head!"

"No." Zach moved toward him. "Lower your weapon. You are endangering Taylor Hebert. I will not allow this."

The trooper backed off with slow, steady steps. Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he aimed at Zach's head. "Do not take one more step! I _will_ kill you!"

"No. You will not." Zach took a step forward. The rifle went off. At the same moment, Zach _moved,_ ending up alongside the trooper. With a single fluid move, he plucked the rifle from the man's hand. "You are not responsible enough to possess this weapon," he noted, passing the expended bullet back to the now thoroughly rattled trooper. Then, with as much apparent effort as I would've used to crumple up a piece of paper, he compressed the rifle into a ball of metal about four inches across. When he dropped it on the ground, it went _clunk._

"Troopers!" That was the man called Tagg. "Take aim!"

I saw the helmets of the PRT troopers turn towards him, then at me and Zach. I looked back at them and shook my head slightly. The trooper facing Zach was retreating slowly, his empty hands carefully held out to the sides. The other troopers carefully kept their gun muzzles down, very explicitly not pointing them in our direction.

"Uh, no, sir." I didn't know who it was that had spoken, but the voice only quivered slightly.

"What the _hell_ kind of show is this?" bellowed Tagg. "You will follow your goddamn orders! That is a dangerous cape, and that girl is an accessory before and after the fact! You will take aim or face charges for mutiny in the face of the enemy!"

"No, _sir."_ The voice was steadier now. "Sir, I just saw that kid throw a van fifteen hundred miles to wipe out the Nine. He _says_ he can hit Director Piggot's office window from here, with one of us. I don't want to be that one."

" _He tried to kill me!"_ screamed Tagg, flipping open his pistol holster. "You will subdue both of them and take them into custody _immediately,_ on the charges of attempted murder, assault on a PRT trooper, and destruction of PRT equipment!" The gun came out of the holster and he moved toward me, pointing it in my direction. "Anyone not obeying my orders will face a court-martial on charges of mutiny and sedition in the ranks! Now _do your du-"_

It still amazed me how fast Zach could move when he wanted to. Between one eyeblink and the next, he was standing beside Tagg, one hand on the pistol and the other covering Tagg's mouth. "Please be quiet, sir," Zach said reproachfully. "If you keep talking, one of your men might try to harm Taylor, and then I will be very angry." I didn't miss how he directed his words partly toward the PRT troopers, or how half of them sidled back a few steps when he said the words 'very angry'. "The van I threw missed your helicopter by at least fifty yards. If I had aimed to hit your helicopter, then you would not be here. Do you understand?"

When he took his hand away from Tagg's mouth, Tagg gave me a glare of pure loathing. "Tell your pet cape here to let me go, _now,_ and I'll go easy on you and your father," he said. "If you don't, arrest and charging will be the _least_ of your problems, girl."

"Fuck you and fuck your threats," I retorted. "Where's my Dad?"

"Your father is in the PRT van to your left," Zach said helpfully. "Do you wish me to let him out?"

"If you could, please?" It was nice to have Zach around. I'd gone _so_ long without having anyone to back me up in any way.

"Of course, Taylor." Zach walked over to the van in question, leaving Tagg where he was. Ignoring the officer, I moved toward the van as well.

I was about halfway there when I spotted Tagg coming at me from the side. It wasn't exactly a smart move on his part, but then he hadn't struck me as someone who was being totally rational at that moment.

"Sir!" yelled one of the troopers. "Don't!" It was probably said for Tagg's benefit rather than mine, but still it made me feel happy inside.

The warning went by the wayside. A second later, Tagg had me with his arm around my neck. The cold circle of his gun muzzle pressed against the back of my skull. I kept still, mainly so that anyone trying to shoot this idiot would have a clear target.

"All right then," he snapped, his gravelly voice even harsher than before. "This futile little charade is over. Zach, if that's your name, down on your knees with your hands behind your head. You _will_ surrender to the PRT right now. The rest of you, you're relieved of duty. Report for Master/Stranger screening as soon as you return to base. And _you,_ girl -"

"You _really_ don't understand what's going on here, do you?" I turned my head to look up at him, feeling the gun muzzle track down to the hollow of my throat as I did so. "You can't shoot me, and you should be happy for it. Because if you did, and you hurt me, Zach would _shred_ you. I'm not talking figuratively, am I, Zach?"

"No, Taylor. You are not." Zach was standing right beside us again. "Director Tagg, unless you withdraw the threat to harm Taylor immediately, I will be forced to hurt you."

"What the fuck is going through your _brains?"_ demanded Tagg. "I can pull this trigger before you can finish disarming me. Whatever you do to _me_ , she'll be dead, and you'll have a Kill Order for the murder of a PRT Director."

"Except that pulling the trigger won't do a damn thing," I told him. "Zach had his hand on your gun _after you pointed it at me_. The only reason he let you keep it after that is that it's useless now."

"I am very impressed, Taylor." Zach smiled at me. "I did not think anyone saw that."

"I didn't," I admitted with a shrug. "I just know how you think. Oh, and talking about that. I notice he still hasn't let me go. Try not to break any bones."

There was another blur of motion, followed by a now-familiar feeling of displacement. In the instants that followed, I heard a sickening _pop_ and a high-pitched scream. Now I was standing next to the van which held Dad, and Tagg was lying on the ground a few yards away. The asshole was screaming and holding his shoulder, which looked kind of funny; I guessed that Zach had dislocated it. _Smartass. Just because I said not to_ _ **break**_ _bones._

Zach moved over to the van and pulled open the back doors. Nobody moved to stop him, even when the shriek of tearing metal was audible to all. Inside, lying on the rough metal flooring with his hands cuffed behind his back, Dad blinked back at us. "Hi," I said cheerfully. "Wanna blow this popsicle stand?"

"Uh, sure," he replied. "I've got a little bit of a handcuff problem, though."

"Eh, so do I," I pointed out, waving my single-cuffed wrist around. "Pretty sure Zach is a one-size-fits-all lockpick, though."

"So I see," murmured Dad, as Zach reached in and made short work of his cuffs. Dad climbed out of the van, rubbing his wrists. As he squinted into the glare, Zach broke the cuff that was around my wrist.

"This isn't over." The voice was Tagg's; he was sitting up, holding his dislocated arm awkwardly across his chest. "You've poked the beehive now. It doesn't matter how far you run or how tough your pet cape is -"

"Oh, _be quiet,_ Tagg." I turned at the new voice, as did Zach and Dad. Stepping out of an egg-shaped force-field bubble was a woman of Hispanic appearance, somewhere between a mature twenty and a well-preserved forty in age. She was tall, beautiful and imperious. I would've recognised her even without the uniform which she wore like a second skin.

Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Teams.

Beside her was a figure who was arguably even more famous; the hooded cloak with the green glow coming from within was an international icon. Eidolon, in the absence of Scion, was _the_ most powerful cape in the world.

"I gave you your chance to bring this situation into line," Costa-Brown went on bluntly. "It seems that you've instead managed to screw it up in no uncertain terms. Mr Hebert, Miss Hebert, Zachary -"

The mention of his name brought Zach out of his apparent daze. "Hello!" he greeted the two newcomers with every appearance of delight. "Hello, Alexandria! Hello, Father! It is so good to meet you both at last!"

 _What._

* * *

End of Part Six


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm HALPING!**

* * *

Part Seven: Setting Boundaries

* * *

 _[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]_

* * *

 _What._

I'd thought I was immune to surprise by this point. Sure, Zach had done some pretty amazing things, but I'd taken each of them in my stride. Getting me out of my locker had been pretty cool, I had to admit. Smacking Assault all the way to Boston had blown that clear out of the water … and then he'd used a van and a signpost to eliminate one of the biggest threats to life and limb in the continental United States. After that, the result of his remarkably unequal fight against Oni Lee, Lung and Hookwolf had been highly amusing but not overly astonishing.

If I thought about it seriously, it wasn't a _huge_ surprise that the Chief Director of the PRT showed up, along with Eidolon. I mean, seriously. _Eidolon._ The man was a God on earth. It wasn't hard to figure out why they were here. Even if Zach wasn't a parahuman, he was still pretty good at what he did. Maybe they were here to offer him some kind of honorary position in the Protectorate? But it didn't _really_ surprise me that they showed up.

No, what surprised the _crap_ out of me was what he said when they did. I wasn't sure what was a greater shock to me, that the Chief Director was actually _Alexandria,_ or that Eidolon was Zach's _dad._ I mean, my dad was pretty cool and all, but being Eidolon's kid? That'd take care of _all_ the 'my dad can beat up your dad' arguments in the schoolyard. Though I really couldn't see Zach having arguments like that.

For some reason, it never occurred to me for even an instant to question what he'd just said. On the surface, sure, it sounded pretty unbelievable. But even though I was surprised as _fuck,_ I accepted Zach's revelation from the moment he said it. Almost instinctively, I knew this wasn't some sort of off-the-wall joke, like the one where he claimed to be an Endbringer. As astounding as it seemed, I somehow _knew_ it was true.

Both the Chief Director and Eidolon stared at him for a frozen moment. I was also staring, but at them. What do you _say_ to people at a moment like that? About fifty different things tried to make it to my vocal cords at once, with the result that I just stood there with my jaw dropping open.

Eidolon stretched his arms to either side in opposite directions, palms outward. A silvery bubble popped into being around him and Chief Director Costa-Brown, then expanded rapidly in all directions. It quickly overtook Dad, Zach and me; it tickled as it passed over us. A moment later it had frozen in a sphere (I guessed—part of it was below ground) composed of semi-transparent white hexagons, each one about two feet across. The only people inside the sphere were Dad, me, Zach, Eidolon, the Chief Director … and Tagg.

The idiot with the dislocated shoulder stared at Zach, then at Eidolon and Costa-Brown. "What the hell?" he blurted. "Director, is that true? Are you a parahuman?" Clumsily, he staggered to his feet, one arm hanging at an awkward angle. "That runs counter to so many of our regulations. I demand that you stand down until an independent investigation—"

Eidolon snapped his fingers, and Tagg dropped like a puppet with the strings cut. Then the green-cloaked hero looked over at us, as if to ask: _Got a problem with that?_

I shrugged. The asshole _had_ arrested my dad and shoved a gun in my ear. So long as he didn't actually kill Tagg, I was fine with it. Though something did occur to me; I gestured at the bubble. "Isn't this kind of flashy? Tells people there's something to worry about in here."

"They don't even know it's there." Eidolon looked down at Tagg; the unconscious man's shoulder went back into place with a resonant _click_. "Anyone who sees it forgets about it. The time in here is also sped up by a factor of ten. They aren't going to have enough time to start wondering what's going on. Which means I've got all the time in the world." He raised his head to give Zach a hard stare. "I don't know who you are, boy, but I'm going to warn you just once. Wild accusations like that could get you into a lot of trouble."

"I have made no wild accusations," Zach said simply. "I know that you are my father, and I know Alexandria when I see her. My brothers and sister have described you both to me very clearly. I do not see why I would be in trouble because of this."

"More to the point," I said, "Zach doesn't lie. Which means … _wow."_ It was only really beginning to sink in at that point. "You're really Alexandria?"

The Chief Director … _blurred._ She came straight toward me, which meant that all I could really see was her hand reaching in my direction. It was way too fast for me to react, but that was okay, because she never reached me.

There was a sound like … I couldn't describe it, because I'd never heard a sound like it before. Think of the sound of a fist hitting flesh, then make it steel hitting granite. It was almost, but not entirely, unlike that. I found myself focusing on the tips of Alexandria's fingers, six inches from my throat. She wasn't getting any closer because Zach was between me and her, his left hand holding her right wrist and his right hand holding her left shoulder. She had her left hand on his right arm, trying to move it but not succeeding in any noticeable way.

"I am not supposed to hurt superheroes, but I will do so if they threaten Taylor," Zach said evenly. "Please do not try to harm Taylor again. I will be displeased."

"Let her go!" shouted Eidolon. Some kind of green glowing energy began to build up around his hands. "I won't warn you twice!"

"Father, don't do this," Zach said firmly. In the moment of distraction, Alexandria lifted her feet off the ground and twisted her body so that she could swing her legs around at him from the side. That was as far as I saw, before they both _blurred_ again. Half a second later, I staggered as a wrenching _crack_ shook the ground under my feet.

Suddenly, Alexandria was lying face-down on the ground … no, face-down _in_ the ground. She was literally half-buried in the street, visibly struggling to get up, but not getting anywhere. This was because Zach was leaning over her, the middle three fingers on his right hand pressing downward between her shoulder-blades. He looked a little ruffled, and the left sleeve of his t-shirt was torn, but his expression was one of mild introspection.

"I will let her go," he said, raising his face to address Eidolon. "But I require your promise that neither one of you will attempt to attack Taylor again. If that happens, I cannot guarantee your safety. Speak to her, Father." He let up on the pressure, stepping away from Alexandria. A moment later, she wrenched herself out of the depression, leaving what looked like a perfect mold of her face—indeed, the entire front of her body—in the ground. She rolled on to her back and collapsed with a groan. Her business suit, I noted, was somewhat the worse for wear.

"I am _not_ your father!" Eidolon retorted. "Stop calling me that!" The energy intensified. "How did you do that? When did you trigger? What powers do you have?"

"Eidolon? Sir?" I waved my hand. "Zach isn't a parahuman. He said so himself."

He stared at me, then at Zach. "Is that true? That you're not a parahuman? I find that very hard to believe."

Zach nodded. "It is true. I am not a parahuman."

"Is it any harder to believe than, for instance, you being Zach's dad?" I raised my eyebrows. "You gotta admit, he's pretty cool."

"I am _not_ his father!" he screamed. "I know this for a fact! I've never—I mean, I …" He trailed off, apparently unsure of how to finish that sentence. "I'm just not his father, all right? It's literally impossible." The energy around his hands faded away.

It only took me a second to figure out what he was hedging around. "Holy crap, you're a _virgin?_ " I said before my brain could engage its common-sense filter. "How does that even happen? Surely you've got—mmph!" I reached up and grabbed the hand which had covered my mouth, and pulled it away. "Dad! Seriously?"

"Taylor honey, you don't want to say things like that to superheroes," Dad advised me, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed an incipient smile. "It's a little personal, and they might get upset."

Alexandria scrambled to her feet, then backed away from Zach until she was standing next to Eidolon. "He's stronger than me. How is he stronger than me?" The look in her eyes wasn't quite fear, but it was getting there. "He's got to be Brute twelve at the very least."

"Uh, no, he's apparently not a parahuman at all," Eidolon said. "I'm not sure what else is going on here, but that much is clear." At her disbelieving look, he shrugged. "I guess it's a thing?"

"Okay," said Alexandria, looking directly at Zach. "If you're not a parahuman, how are you able to do this?" I smirked, pretty sure of what Zach's answer was going to be. Their expressions were going to be _priceless._ She shot me a sharp glance. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." I chuckled. "This is just Zach's little joke, is all. Tell them, Zach."

I had to admire the way he could pull off the poker face while he told it. "I am an Endbringer. Behemoth and Leviathan are my older brothers, and the Simurgh is my sister. They have told me all about you. It is why I am so pleased to meet you, Father."

Alexandria blinked once, very slowly. Eidolon didn't react at all that I could see, but I couldn't see his face, so that didn't mean very much. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured, as if he was choosing them one at a time. "You … have _got_ … to be joking."

"I am not joking," Zach assured him earnestly. "Taylor has taught me how to tell jokes, but that is not one of them. The only jokes I know how to tell are about firemen and suspenders. Would you like to hear them?"

"Uh, maybe later, Zach," I said. "You said that you were joking about being an Endbringer." I felt the twinge of betrayal. _Did he lie to me?_

"No, Taylor." His voice was warm and sincere. "You assumed I was joking, and at the time I felt you would be happier thinking that I was, so I did not correct you. Now it is a good time for you to understand the truth, so now I am correcting you. Do you understand?"

I thought back about what he'd actually said, and how I'd reacted to it. He'd actually told me the real truth, and I'd thought he was being silly. Here he was, helping me and being the kind of friend I'd needed since _forever,_ and I'd just ignored what he was saying because it sounded kind of unbelievable. "Oh, crap. I'm so sorry, Zach. I should've listened to you."

He gave me a sunny smile. "That is all right, Taylor. It is better that you thought that, because you would have had that to worry about as well as everything else."

I had to admit, he did have a good point there. "Okay, yeah, got it. I _am_ kinda curious though. Endbringers have been killing people for decades. If I believe you're an Endbringer right now, why aren't I freaking out? Why aren't I afraid of you?" Because I really wasn't, though intellectually I knew I should've been. But even knowing what he was, to me Zach was … Zach. He was a loveable goofy big puppy who was there for _me_ , and was kinda cool, even when he got things wrong. And he was getting fewer things wrong all the time.

"The answer to that one's obvious," Eidolon said harshly. He pointed his hand at Zach, the green glow building up once more. "It's an infiltrator into society. It's got a Master/Stranger rating as well as a Brute rating. Step away from it, miss. I don't want you getting hurt by accident."

"Oh, for crying out _loud!"_ I shouted, getting more irritated by the second. "Seriously, did you not hear me before? He's _not a parahuman._ He doesn't _have_ powers! I mean, even if he _is_ an Endbringer, _look_ at him! He's _Zach!"_

* * *

 **Zach**

* * *

Which gave Zach his cue. He had to appreciate that about Taylor; even though she did not know about his more-than-human abilities, she certainly made it easier for him to use them. Perhaps, he mused, she knew more than she thought she did.

He had not arrived fully formed in Brockton Bay with all the knowledge that he held now. On that first night, he had been aware of his capabilities, and that his purpose was to help. His wandering feet, and what he now recognised as the subtle guidance of his sister, had led him to help Naomi Hess.

Interacting with her had unlocked part of his social capabilities; or rather, it had brought his knowledge of them to the surface. With just a few words, he could convince others to see him as 'normal', as someone who posed no threat. This had the side effect with aggressive opponents of making them see him as a pushover, but that was rarely a problem.

Later, once he heard the name 'Taylor Hebert', the full knowledge of what he was supposed to do snapped into his awareness. The friendships he had formed were discarded the moment they showed themselves as being opposed to his set purpose. In addition, he gained the knowledge of one final (and very important) social ability.

In order to protect Taylor Hebert, he had to remain by her side and have full use of his capabilities. However, as a normal person, she might feel intimidated or even threatened by the very force he used to protect her. So he was now able to make people discount and even temporarily forget the exact details of what he had done and what he could do. As a result, Taylor could happily ignore the fact that she'd seen him throw Hookwolf more than half a mile, and still appreciate the humour of the villain ploughing into the back of a dog-catcher's van. Zach was quite proud of that joke.

Up until now, he had enjoyed a certain amount of success in deflecting the curiosity of the superheroes who had attended the incident at Winslow. Time and again, when he had stated that he was not a parahuman, they had simply believed him. Father was harder-headed than most, possibly because he _was_ Zach's progenitor, but Zach believed that he could be brought around with a little more effort. Once, of course, this particular argument was dealt with.

Staring at his father, he exerted his will.

* * *

 **Taylor**

* * *

"Oh, right, yeah." The glow died down from Eidolon's hand and he sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck as Alexandria glared at him. "Right," he mumbled. "Forgot for a moment."

"So did I," Alexandria said, just a little stiffly. "We both misunderstood the situation." She took a deep breath. "So, how is it that Eidolon is your father? And you say that Behemoth and Leviathan and the Simurgh are your siblings? How does that even _work?"_

"I was brought into existence by Father's need," Zach said cheerfully. "So were my brothers and sister. Father needed a credible enemy to battle, to maintain his title as the world's most powerful hero, so Behemoth was created. He is really not that bright, but we love him anyway. Nor was he enough of a challenge, so Father created Leviathan." He waggled his hand back and forth. "While Leviathan is smarter, they needed someone to really do the thinking and plan the attacks that Father needed to respond to, so the Simurgh was created. She tells the others how to show up to the best effect and make Father look really heroic."

Eidolon was making noises like a malfunctioning garbage disposal at this point, but Alexandria seemed to be taking it in. At least she wasn't trying to attack me or Zach any more, which suited me just fine. I had a great deal of respect for her as a hero, and I didn't want to see her get hurt.

"If that's true," she said, eyeing him carefully, "what's your purpose? To destroy this city? Because, no offence intended, you don't look all that impressive."

"No offence taken," Zach said. "I am here to help Taylor Hebert and ensure she remains happy and healthy. It is the purpose of my existence."

Which did explain quite a lot, in my opinion. Behemoth and the others were really good at causing havoc and destroying stuff, and Zach _was_ really good at helping me. But I was still curious about something. "Zach … do your siblings _want_ to do what they're doing, or are they only doing it because Eidolon told them to?"

"They do not care either way," Zach said. "But Father needs to keep looking like a hero, while his friends search for a way to beat Scion. So they have to keep doing it." He looked apologetically at Eidolon and spread his hands.

Finally, Eidolon seemed to find his words. "That's _not true!"_ he bellowed. "Any of it! I'm a _hero!_ I save lives! And I didn't father you, or any of the Endbringers!" He turned his head toward Alexandria, his tone angrily pleading. _"Tell_ them!" She gave him an appraising look, and didn't speak. Even without being able to see his face, I could sense his air of betrayal. "What? Not you too!"

"I'm sorry," she said slowly. "I wish I could say it was all nonsense. I really do. But … I've known you for more than twenty years. You've _always_ had a fixation on being the greatest hero in the world. When your powers started declining, you became almost frantic to find a way to restore them. And when Behemoth came along, you threw yourself into the fights as if you didn't care whether you lived or died. If I step back and look at it sideways, it does make a really twisted kind of sense."

"No." He shook his head stubbornly. "I don't believe it. I _won't_ believe it. I'm not a villain. I didn't simply create the Endbringers out of a whim to show off my heroism." Dramatically, he pointed at me; I tensed, but there was no glow around his hand. In any case, I knew Zach wouldn't have let him hurt me. "And what about _her?_ I don't know her. I've never met her. There are millions in need around the world at any one time. Even if I _could_ create Endbringers to order, why in God's name would I create one for _her?"_

He had a distinct point; one I was kind of curious about myself. My eyes found Zach's, but before I could ask the question he was already answering it. "My purpose was to save Taylor from being trapped in that locker, and both help her and keep her happy from then on. I do not know why you created me for this purpose, but I am very pleased that you did. Taylor is a good person, and I have enjoyed helping her. I have spoken with my brothers and sister, and they all agree you are the one who created us. By any reasonable definition, that makes you our father."

"So you say." His voice was less impassioned now, but he obviously didn't want to concede the argument quite yet. "But all you've said is that you 'know' something. That's a long way from proving it. In fact, making heroes doubt themselves is a classic ploy for villains in popular fiction, and I have no doubt that it's been used a time or three in real life. So do you have any kind of _actual_ proof for all of this?"

As Zach paused, looking serious, I had a brainwave. "Zach. Remember how you punted Oni Lee into orbit? You said your sister was taking care of him."

"Wait, seriously?" interjected Dad. "You _actually_ punted someone into orbit? You do know I was just joking about that, right?"

Zach smiled at him. "Yes, but it was a good joke, and Taylor and I both appreciated it when I did it." He turned to Eidolon. "Yes, I have proof. Let me show you." He gestured, and the translucent bubble around us vanished like smoke in the wind. Then he looked skyward.

"Wait, how the hell did you do …" Eidolon's voice trailed off as he followed Zach's gaze. Shading my eyes, I did the same. Far above, a tiny white dot impinged on the otherwise flawless blue vault of the sky. As we watched, it grew larger, descending with dramatic speed. When it was still only the size of my thumbnail, I thought I saw a black-clad figure in among the multitude of wings.

A shiver went down my spine as my brain confirmed that yes, I was looking at the Simurgh. I'd only ever seen her in pictures and in rare pieces of footage. Possessed of a bizarrely semi-angelic appearance, her very presence promised madness and death to whoever came too close. But now she was coming _here,_ to Brockton Bay. Even with Zach at my side, I felt a flicker of fear.

"Do not be worried." Zach placed his hand on my arm, the physical reminder of his presence putting me more at ease. "She does not mean you harm. But I have told her about you, and she wishes to have met you."

"To have met me?" That was an odd way to put it, even for Zach. "What do you mean?"

"Are you _insane?"_ Alexandria pointed up at the approaching Endbringer. "Did you _call_ her here?"

"I cannot be insane, but yes, I did," Zach said cheerfully, then turned back to me. "As for what I meant, she cannot see the _now._ She can only see the past and the future. She can foresee meeting you, and she can remember it, but she cannot experience it in the now."

I blinked. "That sounds weird." Then what I'd said caught up with me. "I mean, I don't want to offend her, it just …" I trailed off, not wanting to dig myself in any deeper.

"Do not worry." Zach chuckled. "She is not offended. Anyway, she thinks that being stuck in just one moment is also weird. Letting time go past at one second per second is so very limiting."

"Right." I tried not to think about it. Not that I had the time to do any casual thinking right at that moment, because the Simurgh had landed directly in front of me.

My first thought was _wow, she's tall._ I'm tall for a teenage girl, but while the Simurgh was shorter than her older brothers—I honestly surprised myself by thinking of _Endbringers_ like that—she was nearly three times my height. Her bare feet, as pure-white as the rest of her, touched down gently on the rough asphalt, barely seeming to brush it. Opening her wings and spreading them wide in various directions—she had a _lot_ of wings, and they opened at some pretty weird angles—she released the black-clad form of Oni Lee. He fell to his knees, ripped the demon mask from his face, and threw up all over the ground.

If Zach hadn't been right there beside me, I probably would've been terrified all over again. Lee had tried to kill me twice in the last hour, and there was no guaranteeing that he wouldn't try again. Except that … well, he didn't. Instead, as he recovered from his vomiting fit—I supposed that if I'd had an elevator ride like that from low orbit, I'd be puking too—he took one look at me and scrambled to get away.

* * *

 **Alexandria**

* * *

In the distance, the Endbringer sirens began to wail, but neither Rebecca nor Eidolon moved. A strange calm had overtaken them; the Simurgh was not yet singing, so the fight hadn't begun. If she did anything at all hostile, they'd be able to act instantly, but it looked as though she wasn't even paying attention to them.

Not even bothering to get to his feet, the Asian cape scrabbled away on his hands and knees until he reached Eidolon, then clasped the hero around the knees, babbling away in Japanese nineteen to the dozen. If Rebecca was any judge, it sounded like he was one good scare away from soiling himself. Though from the way he clipped his syllables, he wasn't even a Kyushu refugee, but from Honshu. Possibly one of the western prefectures. So he'd never faced an Endbringer before.

Eidolon looked down at the prostrate villain, then at her. "This is Oni Lee? What's he saying?"

Rebecca didn't take her eyes off the winged monster before her for a single second. "Yes, apparently it is. He's saying … 'take me to jail, please get me away from her, I want to go to jail' … and more, but in the same vein." It took her a moment to realise that he wasn't saying it about the Simurgh. He was saying it about _Taylor._

As Rebecca spoke, the Simurgh crouched so that her eyes were on a level with the Hebert girl's. Some of her wings scraped the footpath behind her, the delicate-looking feathers gouging out chunks of concrete with brutal ease. The teenage girl did something few had done; she looked fearlessly into those grey-white blind-looking eyes. "Uh, hi," she managed. "It's, uh, nice to meet you?"

The smile that formed on the Simurgh's lips was somehow unsettling in its perfection. One bone-white hand raised briefly in what could have been a wave, then the Endbringer nodded to the boy with the green eyes. He nodded back; an instant later, she was flashing skyward as fast as Rebecca had ever seen her fly.

All around them, the PRT men had been scattering to defensive positions. It was a tribute to the brief nature of the Simurgh's … 'attack' wasn't the right word. Intrusion? Flyby? _Visit?_ In any case, it was telling that the incident was over so quickly that the PRT men were still on the move when the white dot winked out far above. Tagg, almost at her feet, had slept through the whole thing. She was glad of that; the reactionary idiot probably would've done his best to get killed. Again. Perhaps, she mused, it would do him good to be posted to someplace like the Eagleton quarantine zone for a while, where he could have the release of keeping the Machine Army inside the set boundaries. Peace, quiet, and ordinary people obviously didn't agree with him.

The distant sirens hiccuped and shut off. She ignored them, taking a few steps closer to Taylor Hebert, who was speaking with her father. Zach met her halfway. She still had trouble thinking of him as an Endbringer, though the sight of her body-print in the asphalt made visualising it a little easier. The number of entities on the planet able to do _that_ to her could be counted on the fingers of one hand. "Is that enough proof for you?" he asked, apparently seriously.

"It's a really, really good start," she replied cautiously. "Will you be inviting your … siblings … over for afternoon tea, very often? I can't help imagining that it might cause unavoidable disruptions."

"They do not eat," he replied immediately. "I do not need food, but it still tastes nice. I will be careful about making sure that they do not hurt Taylor or make her unhappy."

"You know …" Over the course of her career, Rebecca had engaged in diplomatic negotiations of all kinds. On the one hand, there were the times that required her to charge right ahead, driving the opposition on to the back foot. With her perfect memory and command of every relevant fact at her fingertips, she was _good_ at those. On the other hand, there were also the times when a gentle suggestion was better than a battering-ram. This was one of the latter. "I was thinking. Taylor might be unhappy if they actually attacked any cities. And killed people, I mean. Just a thought."

"Do you think so?" He actually managed to look thoughtful. "I will ask her."

Rebecca looked over his shoulder at Taylor. "You do that."

* * *

 **Taylor**

* * *

 _Hello._

The one word resounded in my head. It hadn't entered by my ears, but I'd heard it nonetheless. It sounded … beautiful. Of course, I'd heard all about the Simurgh's scream, how it sounded like music that was just a little bit off, so eventually it drove you mad. This didn't sound anything like that. It was like I'd just been greeted by someone with wind-chimes for vocal cords.

I also got the impression that she liked me. This was probably because Zach liked me, but still, it felt really weird to have an Endbringer—I mean, a _known_ Endbringer—say hi and give the impression that she approved of me. Well, my day _had_ started out at 'horrific', so the weirdness of associating with Zach was kind of soothing. The worst thing that had happened was Dad being arrested by that idiot Tagg, and we'd managed to get that dealt with pretty quickly. With Zach around, I was pretty sure they wouldn't try that again.

Raising my head, I watched the Simurgh depart. Was it wrong to decide that a visit by an Endbringer wasn't the worst part of my day? Even when said Endbringer was the sister of the guy who I was hanging around with? I couldn't tell any more.

"Taylor?" It was Dad. "Are you okay?" He was looking a little pale himself; I guessed that he'd been more concerned about the Simurgh than I was. Then again, he hadn't seen Zach in action for himself, so he didn't have the certain knowledge that nothing was going to hurt us.

"Uh, sure," I said. "That was kind of weird, and a bit scary, but she just wanted to say hello. I wonder how many other people have been that close to her." From what I'd seen in the news, not many and not for very long. Though Oni Lee had been next to her for a lot longer than I had. I looked down at where Eidolon had encapsulated the man in some sort of opaque force field. "Is that gonna hold him? He can teleport, you know."

"All the reports say that he needs line of sight." Alexandria moved up alongside me; Zach didn't react, so I relaxed as well. "Now, you know my secret, and I don't want that spread around. The trouble is, I'm reasonably certain that Zach isn't going to allow me to make sure you don't talk. I _really_ don't want to piss off an Endbringer who can make me think he's a teenage boy before unscrewing my head, so this is what it's come to." There was nobody else close enough to hear us except Eidolon, but she kept her voice low anyway. Her face creased in a grimace of distaste. "What's your price to keep my secret?"

It actually took me a few seconds to realise what she was talking about. "Oh, uh …" I paused, glancing at my father. "Dad?" This was a really big secret. Probably the biggest I'd ever held. There was no _way_ I'd make a decision this huge without checking in with him.

"Hmm." That was Dad's negotiating voice. People occasionally acted like it was his fault the Dockworkers' Association was in the state it was, and they were right, just not in the way that they thought. He was one of the reasons it was still _running._ "I'm assuming someone as high up the political ladder as you are has a few strings you can pull. Taylor currently attends Winslow High. I'd like her transferred to Arcadia, immediately if not sooner. In addition, no legal penalties for anything she's done today, and all damage to my house is to be either repaired or paid for _today."_ He paused, rubbing his chin.

Alexandria blinked. So did I, as I watched her business suit slowly returning to its pristine condition. This was not a power I'd ever heard of her having. But then I glanced over at Eidolon, and saw a faint glow about one of his hands. Very tricky. Also, awesome cool.

"Is that … all?" asked Alexandria, her voice uncertain for the first time that I'd met her. She'd probably been thinking Dad would ask for a million dollars or something. Not that I'd have a problem with that. Even over and above getting out of Winslow _forever,_ and going to Arcadia, a million dollars could … oh, wait. I'd been so taken up with everything else, I'd managed to temporarily forget that Dad was _already_ worth a hundred million dollars. So scratch _that._

Dad smiled slightly, not unlike a cheetah spotting a limping gazelle. Normally, I figured, the simile would've gone the other direction. But this was definitely his time to shine. "I'm going to need the paperwork for the bounty for the Nine cleared without any roadblocks. And don't try to bullshit me that there won't be any roadblocks, because when this much money is involved, there's _always_ people who can find reasons for the whole amount to not be paid out, or not all at once." Huh. It seemed that his thought processes were paralleling mine. Great minds really did think alike.

She drew herself up, managing to look offended and regal at the same time. There was no way I could pull that off, even in my wildest dreams. "I assure you, there'll be no delays."

"Right." His tone was dubious. "I'll believe that when I see it. Just let your accounting department know that if they try anything clever, I'll be visiting, and bringing Taylor with me. And you know who'll be coming along with her."

I smiled at Zach, who returned it. Alexandria wasn't smiling at all. "Noted," she said warily. "Anything else?"

"Yes." His voice was still deceptively mild. "I'm going to be using that money to clear the Boat Graveyard and get the ferry back into operation. The trouble is, there are people in the city council who've been pushing back on any such improvements for the last ten years. So I'd really appreciate it if you dropped a word in Roy Christner's ear to spread the message that it would be a really bad idea to make me waste my time, money and resources while I'm getting this done."

"I understand, Mr Hebert," she said. "I do. However, I need you to know that I skimmed a basic dossier on Brockton Bay before I came here, and apparently there are sound reasons for not reinstating the ferry."

"With all due respect, ma'am." His tone denoted not much respect at all. "You don't live here. The gangsters have _better_ transport than the ordinary civilians. There are bus lines that regularly communicate between the north end of the city and the south. Bringing the ferry back up is _not_ going to suddenly create an influx of crime into Downtown. The criminals are already there, and some of them wear business suits. And some of _those_ don't want the ferry up and running for reasons that have nothing to do with the crime rate, and everything to do with personal profit and political capital." He shrugged. "Of course, if you _wanted_ to take out the Merchants while you were in town, I wouldn't object. Zach's been kind enough to remove the capes leading the ABB."

"Or Zach could do it," I suggested. "I mean, if that's okay with you, Zach?" After all, why get Alexandria to do something for us that we could already do for ourselves?

"Would this make you happy, Taylor?" he asked eagerly. "I could do that for you. Do you want them alive?"

"Let's … not kill anyone for the time being," I suggested. "It makes things a lot less complicated all round. And yes, it would make me happy, but don't run off right now. We can wait until everything settles down again." I was thinking that midnight might be a nice time. Let everyone wake up to a Merchant-free city.

Eidolon sighed. "The news crews are coming back," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "It appeared that _everyone_ saw your sister's little visit." While his face was hidden, I was reasonably sure he was giving Zach a dirty look.

Involuntarily, I glanced at the damaged curb, where the Simurgh's feathers had scraped away concrete like a knife through butter. That led my eye to the impression that Alexandria had made in the street, with Zach's assistance. It was a very _detailed_ impression; I had no doubt that if anyone made a cast of it, the result would be recognisable.

"Uh, we might want to do something about that," I said, gesturing to the hole. "I'm pretty sure we don't want a Chief-Director-shaped pothole outside our house. People might talk."

"This is getting more complicated by the moment," muttered Eidolon, but he stepped over to the hole anyway.

"And it might only get worse if you remove these 'Merchants' from the scene," Alexandria pointed out. "Power vacuums are a real thing, by the way. Removing one gang simply invites other gangs to fill the gap. You've already done that by taking down Lung and Oni Lee. I believe the other large gang in the city is a white-supremacist organisation with ties to Gesellschaft; do you really want them expanding their operations?"

"I don't know about this Gesellschaft thing," Dad said, stumbling over the name a little, "but as far as I can tell, the solution's simple. Put Director Piggot back in charge of the local PRT and give her the resources she needs to do the damn job. Capes and PRT personnel both. This city's a shithole. It's been circling the drain for the last ten years or more. This is because it's always had more villains than heroes, with capes backing up criminals so the cops can't do anything." He fixed Alexandria with a glare. "If something official doesn't get done, then something unofficial _will_ get done. And we won't be saying nice things about the PRT once Zach has put out the trash once and for all."

Her expression was more than a little sour by the time he'd finished. "I presume these are more of your demands? Because you're beginning to reach the limit of what I consider reasonable."

Eidolon did something with a power that made the asphalt flatten itself out, erasing the spot where Zach had pressed Alexandria into the street. Then he turned his head to look down the street. "They're here," he announced, just as a news van tore into view. I couldn't see the paint job from this angle, but I had a suspicion of which one it would be. Some people, it seemed, were more anxious to get the scoop than others.

"That's it for the moment," Dad said. "If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Taylor, did you have anything to add?" He ignored Alexandria's scowl and grinned at me.

"Nothing right now," I decided, though I _had_ been wondering how she'd react if I asked for a pony. Not that I wanted a pony, but the look on her face would've been hilarious. "Just, you know, don't tell anyone about Zach, okay? They might get the wrong idea."

Alexandria rolled her eyes. "Do I _look_ like an idiot?"

I snorted, and Dad chuckled. She gave us both a dirty look. Together, we turned toward the news van as it pulled to a halt. "So how do we play this?" asked Eidolon.

"We say nothing, in great detail." Alexandria's voice was firm.

Dad nodded. "Got it."

 _Yeah,_ I thought. _Because that_ _ **never**_ _goes wrong._

* * *

End of Part Seven


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm HALPING!**

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Part Eight: Home Truths

* * *

 _[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]_

* * *

The blow-dried woman who scrambled out of the news van was the same one who'd approached us after Zach had thrown a two hundred thousand dollar PRT vehicle halfway across America. The cameraman piled out behind her, but didn't get too close to us; it was probably the way both Alexandria—sorry, Chief Director Costa-Brown—and Eidolon were looking at them. Not that we could see Eidolon's eyes, but he could glare pretty well all the same. I wondered if it was some kind of power.

"Giselle Barber, Brockton Bay Nightly News!" the woman announced breathlessly. "It's Eidolon, isn't it? And you're Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown of the PRT. What brings you to our city? Is it the reported Simurgh sighting? Do you have anything to say to our viewers?" As she spoke, a microphone on a boom extended past her shoulder, held by the cameraman. It was positioned so if any of us said anything, it'd probably pick us up clearly.

There was a pregnant pause, almost as if Eidolon and Alexandria were each expecting the other one to say something … then Zach stepped forward. His expression was genial and friendly as always, which was a good thing. However, I had no idea what he was going to say, which wasn't. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Chief Director's hand move, as if she intended to grab his arm. She didn't go through with it, which definitely meant she could learn.

"Nothing, in great detail!" he announced brightly. A soft groan came to my ears, and I turned my head slightly to see the Chief Director closing her eyes slightly and looking down and to the side. I was no Thinker, but I was pretty sure she wanted to face-palm right then. To be honest, I didn't blame her; I'd thought Zach had gotten past his literal stage. Then again, those precise words were what Alexandria had said to say. I had to wonder if he was very gently pranking her. Which would mark a great improvement in his sense of humour, though I doubted very much that she'd see the funny side.

Ms Barber, on the other hand, didn't even seem to get the joke, much less the context. "I … beg your pardon, uh, Zachary?" She frowned, obviously trying to work out why he'd said that. "I'm not quite sure what you meant. Can you elaborate?"

"Of course I can," he said, still in the same bouncy tone. "But it is supposed to be a secret, so I am not supposed to talk about it. Do you understand?" With his wide, guileless gaze, he looked straight at her, apparently ignoring the microphone the cameraman was dangling closer and closer to his face. The Chief Director was now making a noise deep in her throat that sounded like a puppy after its favourite toy had been taken away. Her self-control was definitely superhuman, because she looked like she wanted to grab Zach and slap her hand over his mouth herself.

While I could sympathise, I didn't think the situation was quite that dire yet. Zach might come across as clueless from time to time, but he'd quite often shown a keen grasp of the situation. Even if his solutions were somewhat off-the-wall, they made sense according to the way he saw things. And I had to admit, he had no bullshit in him. To ask Zach a question was to get a direct answer, even if it wasn't the one you wanted to hear.

"Of course I do," Ms Barber said warmly, actually lifting the microphone in her hand toward him. "You can trust me." Which meant she fully intended to broadcast whatever he said, probably under the claim she didn't know he meant what he was going to say was off the record.

"Oh, good." Zach looked her directly in the eyes. "What happened here is that either I am the fourth Endbringer and Eidolon is our father and the Simurgh came down here to say hello to my friend Taylor …"

People had talked about Zach having some sort of Master/Stranger effect, but this was the first time I'd experienced it for myself. As he spoke, I felt something nudging me to disbelieve what I'd seen with my own eyes just minutes earlier, but I was easily able to push it back. Ms Barber, on the other hand, was listening silently with an extremely dubious look on her face.

" _Or,"_ continued Zach, "What everyone _thought_ was the Simurgh was actually the side-effect of the test of a top-secret piece of Tinkertech, which Eidolon and Chief Director Costa-Brown are here to observe." He gave her a beaming smile. "I think you can figure out which one is more likely."

The sensation of being nudged returned, only this time I felt the vague urge to believe the story about the Tinkertech. Again, I shook it off without effort. Ms Barber, on the other hand, burst out laughing so hard she dropped her microphone. "F-fourth Endbringer?" she gasped between whoops of hilarity. "Eidolon's your f-father? Come on, you can do better than that."

On cue, the Chief Director stepped forward. "The PRT cannot confirm or deny any report of a Tinkertech test in this location. Top secret is top secret, after all." She shot Zach a stern look. "And Zachary, in future? The next time you decide to concoct a wild story to share with the press? Try to make it sound at least _somewhat_ believable, hmm?"

"Yes, Chief Director," he said happily. "I will do that." As the Chief Director closed in on the reporter, Zachary turned to Dad and me. "It is probably a good idea to walk away now," he said much more quietly. "The Chief Director and Eidolon have this under control."

Dad and I took his advice, but it puzzled me the reporter hadn't even tried to pursue us on, well, _anything._ Sure, Eidolon was one of the world's premier capes, but Chief Director Costa-Brown wasn't known as a media personality—well, _I_ didn't know her as a media personality, at least—so I would've thought they'd be more fixated on Zach.

"Yeah, but why?" I asked, keeping my voice just as low. "I mean, you wiped out the _Slaughterhouse Nine_ just a little while ago. Without even really trying. I mean, even if they don't believe the stuff you just said, why _aren't_ they breaking their necks to get an exclusive with you?" it just didn't make sense to me.

It might've been my imagination, but Zach's smile was a little more self-satisfied than normal. "That is because they do not believe me to be important at all," he explained. "As far as they are concerned, we are three innocent bystanders. They will not be bothering you unless you want them to pay attention to you. And if they do not pay attention to me, it will make it much easier for me to protect you."

Dad raised his eyebrows at that. "So, you can make them just … ignore us? Does this work for everyone?" He looked around, at the PRT men still in the vicinity. Several of them seemed to be on guard against any further strangeness, while the rest packed equipment away in their vans. The _remaining_ vans, I reminded myself, given that one had been damaged by Oni Lee and another had turned Jack Slash into roadkill. All of them were studiously not paying attention to us, but in a different way to the manner in which the reporter and her cameraman had ignored us.

"No," Zach said. "I could make it work like that, but I am simply allowing them to believe I am simultaneously too dangerous to arrest and not dangerous enough to pose a serious threat." He said this with the same matter-of-fact tone which he used in most situations, but it didn't make it any less weird. Of course, at the same time, I could appreciate exactly how useful this could be to me and Dad. It wasn't as if we really wanted the PRT camping on our doorstep, trying to arrest Zach every five minutes. Once had been _far_ more than enough.

Dad seemed to be thinking the same way. "Just so long as I'll still be able to get people to take me seriously when I tell them I'm going to be demolishing the Boat Graveyard and reopening Lord's Port." He gave Zach a serious look. "This means a lot to me."

"And the Ferry too," I put in. "Don't forget that one, Dad." As if I'd even thought he might. Dad had been pushing his personal campaign to get the Brockton Bay Ferry reinstated for almost as long as I'd been alive. Sometimes I wondered if it was even the Ferry he was really trying to bring back, or if he was just trying to revive what he remembered of the golden days of Brockton Bay, before the Boat Graveyard blocked Lord's Port and stifled the local shipping industry.

He chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Where would I be without you to remind me of the important things in life, kiddo?" His bantering tone made me grin; it had been absent all too often of late. Sliding his arm around my shoulders, he nodded toward the house. "Think they've cleaned up in there yet?"

"I hope so," I said, suddenly aware I was barefoot, and that I'd been that way since I left the house. It seemed ridiculous that so much had happened in such a short time. Had I really gone climbing over rubble with Miss Militia to rescue trapped people? And how had I not hurt my feet doing so? "Uh, Dad, can I lean on you for a second?"

"Sure thing," he said, offering his arm. I took hold of it and lifted my left foot to examine the sole. At first I thought I must've trodden in something, because the skin covering the underside of my foot was black from side to side. But as I watched, the blackness evaporated, wafting away like smoke. Underneath was the smooth pink skin of my foot.

"What the heck?" I put my foot down, suddenly aware I could feel the asphalt much more keenly under my feet now, and gave Zach a questioning look. "Was that you? Did you do that?" I was a little torn; while he _had_ only been protecting me, I didn't appreciate being kept in the dark about it.

"Yes, Taylor." He smiled at me. "I did not want you to hurt your feet, and I was going to be busy fighting, so I made sure a protective layer of rubber from the floor of the van adhered to your feet. It is no longer necessary, because there are shoes in the house you can wear."

Dad blinked. "Well, that was very thoughtful of you, Zach. But I'm guessing you didn't tell Taylor about this when you did it?" He gave me a discerning glance. "See her face? That's the face which says 'you really should've told me earlier'."

"I did not know this," Zach replied, studying my face carefully. "Taylor, are you angry with me?" The smile slid off his face, replaced by an expression of anxiety. "I did not wish to hurt your feelings. My intention was only to prevent harm from coming to you."

For an Endbringer, he had a very good line in puppy-dog eyes. While I wasn't going to really be mad at him for trying to help me, I didn't want him to think he could just do anything and assume I'd be okay with it after the fact. He needed to learn boundaries. Which, I had to admit, he'd already shown he was good at.

"That's okay, Zach," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm not angry, but Dad's right. It's nice to know you're protecting me, but if you're going to do something like this, I'd prefer to know about it. This way, we both know what's going on." I offered him a smile of my own. "I know you're doing your best, and you're doing an absolutely awesome job of protecting me physically. It's just that keeping me in the dark about it doesn't make me feel like I've got a lot of control over my life at the moment. You understand what I'm talking about?"

For a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his expression one of intense concentration. Then his face cleared, and he smiled brilliantly. "Yes, I understand now, Taylor. I just asked my sister and she explained it to me. She also said people could be very complicated and I should not assume I know how they will react to what I do."

For all that I'd just met his sister (who was the _Simurgh!_ Some part of me, deep inside, was still gibbering over this) the fact he'd just asked her for advice about _me_ just blew me away. What just about everyone knew about the Simurgh (apart from the part about her being a city-killing monster, of course) was that she was really smart, and could out-think the whole Triumvirate, including Alexandria, which was even more impressive. And _he'd_ asked _her_ about _me._

Of course, she'd given him good advice. How could she not? It just remained to be seen if he'd follow it. On balance, I figured he would; Zach might seem clueless from time to time, but he wasn't exactly dumb. I decided to reinforce it, just in case. "You should listen to your sister," I told him seriously. "She knows what she's talking about." Thinking about what I'd just said, about the _Simurgh,_ I couldn't help wondering when I'd started thinking of the Endbringers as … well, as _people._ I wasn't counting Zach; he was already a person, as far as I was concerned.

Commander Calvert approached us, his armour still showing scuff-marks from the earlier tumble. He stopped at a respectful distance before clearing his throat. If he'd been wearing a hat instead of a helmet, his attitude suggested he would've been holding it in his hands in front of him. I wasn't _quite_ sure what Zach had said to him, but all of my experience told me my newest and best friend could redefine the concept of 'persuasive' if he put his mind to it. Calvert looked … persuaded.

"Excuse me, Mr Hebert?" he said diffidently. "We've cleaned up all the broken glass. A glazier has been contacted, and the PRT will be footing the bill. Please accept our deepest apologies for this entire misunderstanding." His eyes flickered to Zach then back to Dad, the motion almost too fast for me to register. "You have my personal assurance it won't be happening again."

Well, _that_ bit was a given. I was pretty sure Zach had things covered. As for Calvert himself, he gave me the impression he was a man who didn't always play by the rules, especially if there wasn't someone like Zach around to keep him in line. So I chose to take his apparent sincerity with a large grain of salt. Plus, there was something I wanted to say.

"Misunderstanding?" I snorted and shook my head. "I'll give _you_ 'misunderstanding'. The only 'misunderstanding' was you idiots not understanding you couldn't just do what you wanted. I told you what was happening from the beginning, and you _just kept pushing._ And now you all look like morons, and whose fault is that, exactly?"

Calvert didn't look altogether thrilled at being yelled at by a teenager, but this wasn't my problem. I finally had someone to vent at who was standing still long enough to be vented at. He winced as I raised my voice. "And have you called in someone to repair our front step? We all saw you break it, you know. I'd be surprised if someone didn't get it on film." I threw my hands in the air. "And amazingly enough, that's the _least_ moronic thing you idiots have done all day!"

Dad nodded. "At least the Chief Director has already agreed the PRT will be covering all the costs of what happened today. Of course, now I have to go and yell at her school principal for letting that shit happen there. Just be glad you can't be held responsible for that, too." Despite the fact Commander Calvert was about as tall as my father, and more physically imposing due to the bulk of the gear he was wearing, the PRT officer swayed backward under the force of Dad's anger.

"Actually, the PRT is at least partially to blame for the ongoing bullying, as well," Zach announced brightly, just as the Commander began to edge away. "After all, Sophia Hess is a Ward, and they are responsible for not curtailing her actions." In the wake of this revelation, he beamed at Dad and me. Very slowly, Commander Calvert face-palmed.

"Oh. Really." Dad took a step toward Calvert. The latter, a trained soldier wearing weapons and armour, took a step back with his hands held up defensively. "So _that's_ your fault as well? You _enabled_ this girl, this Ward, to bully my daughter at school? You _let it happen?"_ Dad's voice rose to a shout. "How many _other_ ways have the PRT managed to fuck up today? Do those helmets cut off the blood supply to your brains or something? How hard is it to keep an eye on the behaviour of _one teenage superhero?"_

"That's not my side of operations," Calvert said quickly. "I'm not involved in the Wards side of things. And to be honest, I wasn't aware there was a Ward attending Winslow. I've certainly had no personal contact with the girl." Eyeing the implacable expression on Dad's face, he hastily added, "Though I have no doubt he's telling the exact truth. And now this has come out, I'm sure the appropriate measures will be taken."

"So long as the appropriate measures include words like 'shitcanned so fast her head spins' and 'juvenile detention until she's _forty',_ I'm good." A muscle was jumping in Dad's jaw now, a sign that he was reaching a high point in his anger. "But if you even _consider_ sweeping it all under the carpet, this is coming out. All of it. I don't take this shit, not from you or from anyone, not when my daughter's well-being is involved."

Calvert shot another lightning-fast glance at Zach, then returned his attention to Dad. "Mr Hebert, this is not my area of authority." He opened his mouth to say more, but a look of strained relief settled on his face as he closed it again.

"No, but it is mine." It was Alexandria's voice, coming from behind us. We turned to look at her. "Commander Calvert, you're dismissed. Get your men packed up and out of here. Zachary, I have no personal knowledge of what you're talking about, but I would appreciate being filled in as quickly as possible. Mr Hebert, may we use your house for the sake of privacy?"

"Why?" asked Dad, still seething. "So you can get all the details, cover it up, then deny it later?" He indicated the reporter, still talking to Eidolon. "Seems to me this sort of shit gets made to go away all too often. Maybe I should go over there and make a statement. Blow this whole thing wide open."

Alexandria shook her head minutely. "Presuming Zachary would not allow us to inflict a legal punishment on you for outing a Ward, that's still a bad idea. No matter your feelings about whichever person we're talking about, she undoubtedly has family and friends who will be put at risk if you out her."

"Yes," said Zach unexpectedly. "She has a mother, a brother and a younger sister. They are innocent in this." Despite the surprising revelation, he made the statement as dramatic as if he were talking about the weather.

"Wait, when were you going to tell me she was a Ward?" I demanded. "We talked about this! Just now, even! Why did you hold this back, of all things?" Nothing seemed simple any more; even Zach, it seemed, was picking and choosing the information he was giving me.

"I was not holding it back, Taylor," he said earnestly. "I thought you would be less happy if I told you when there was nobody around who could do something about it. In addition, if you learned about it and spread the information, her family may have been harmed and you would be unhappy." He gestured toward Alexandria. "The Chief Director can do something about it that will not harm her family." His gaze turned anxious again. "Or was I incorrect in thinking you would have brooded about it until something could be done?"

I blinked. As much as I hated to admit it, he was correct. I would've been a lot angrier if I didn't have anyone to bitch at regarding Sophia, once Zach told me what was going on there. Worse, telling Armsmaster or Miss Militia might not have had the best results. And if I'd spread it around, Sophia's family could easily have gotten hurt without me even knowing about it.

It went back to something Dad always said: if you're going to complain, complain to the guy in charge. This applied for more than one reason, as I was discovering. "Did … did you know the Chief Director would be coming here?" I asked, glancing sideways at the woman herself. For her part, she had a peculiar expression on her face, as of someone who'd bitten into an apple and found half a worm. Finding out that your actions had been predicted well ahead of time would definitely be a wake-up call, especially when you were someone like Alexandria.

Cheerfully, he nodded. "Once I killed the Nine off, it was a virtual certainty. I knew when she arrived, she would want to test my capabilities. As soon as that was out of the way, I knew I would be able to inform you of the matter." He beamed at me; while Zach would never do 'smug' well, he could still look moderately pleased with himself.

"That's pretty sharp, to figure all that out," I observed. "Or did you consult with your sister?" From the look on his face, I figured I had it right. Zach was smart, but he tended to be very straightforward. Twisty logic wasn't his strength.

"Yes," he admitted at once. "I did not know how to tell you in such a way as to keep you happy and not put other people at risk, so I asked her, and she suggested this way. She also suggested it would be best to continue the conversation in the house."

Zach didn't offer suggestions very often so when he did, I listened. "Okay," I said. "Let's take this into the house." Turning, I led the way across the street and up the driveway. I was used to stepping over the rotten stair anyway; the lack simply made it mandatory. The last PRT man out of the house had closed the door but not locked it, so I opened it and went inside.

Calvert's men had obviously found our geriatric vacuum cleaner; the area of floor under where the glass would have fallen was the cleanest spot in the living room. I switched on the light and moved carefully, looking for twinkles of light on the linoleum, but they'd been very thorough. Even the shards of glass remaining in the window frames had been removed. Moving over to the sofa, I inspected the cushions critically; there was no glass there either.

"It is safe," Zach said from behind me. "All glass particles that could potentially harm you have been removed. The men missed a few, but my sister dealt with those." I shouldn't have been surprised by that last statement, but there it was. It was almost impossible to imagine the Simurgh lowering herself to domestic cleaning.

"Um, wait a second," I protested. An image of that terrifying figure wearing an apron and vacuuming the floor popped up in my mind, and I tried to expel it again. It was just too weird. "She did _that?_ I thought she just came down to say hello and confirm what you were saying. I mean, I'm nobody special."

"You are the most special person in the world to me." I'd heard this from Zach before, but I didn't really think I'd ever get over it. When most people said that sort of thing, they were just saying it. Zach, on the other hand, _meant_ it on a bone-deep level. "Also, she likes you. She says you are our best chance to break the cycle."

"Excuse me?" It was Alexandria. I hadn't seen her or Dad enter, because I'd been focused on what Zach was saying. "What cycle is this, exactly? Is this something we need to be concerned about?"

"The Endbringer cycle." Zach turned to her, his expression bland. "My brothers or my sister attack a city and allow themselves to get chased away again. Father's power orders them to do it to cause damage and require heroes to force them away."

"Wait, _allow_ themselves to be chased away?" Dad looked as though he wasn't sure he wanted to be here for this. "Are they throwing the fights?" To be fair, it was a very disquieting thought. Every time there was an Endbringer fight, the news was full of praise for the bravery of the capes who forced the monster to (eventually) retreat. Was it all a sham?

"Well, yes." Zach blinked, as if no other answer was possible. "Behemoth could ignite everything in a ten-mile radius if he chose to. Leviathan could pull all the water out of the bodies of everyone in the fight. And Ziz … well, she does not _need_ to sing to affect the minds of people, or even be near them. Those are just rules they made up for themselves to give people the hope that they could be beaten. They are much more powerful than they have shown, but to use their full strength would make it impossible for them to pretend to be beaten."

Alexandria, suddenly pale, slowly lowered herself on to the sofa. "And you?" she asked, her tone more than a little shaken. "Are you that powerful as well?"

I thought back to what I'd seen Zach do, and decided the answer was 'holy shit, yes'. Though, thinking back, he did say he'd gotten his brothers and sister to help him with certain stunts. Of course, the fact that they _had_ helped him without moving from wherever they were gave his previous statement some serious credibility.

"I am powerful," Zach confirmed without any kind of boastful tone in his voice. "I am not as physically strong as Behemoth, but I am able to manipulate perceptions of me as well as the powers of parahumans whom I encounter. Those powers that I like, I keep to make use of, and sometimes I add extra capabilities to make them more useful. I will not remove powers from parahumans without explicit permission, but I can shut down access to their powers for extended periods of time."

"You mentioned manipulation of perceptions." Alexandria was bouncing back fast, showing the steel she'd used to remain as the Chief Director of the PRT over my lifetime. "Is this the Stranger effect you used to make us believe you weren't a parahuman?"

"I did not lie," Zach pointed out. "I always tell the truth. However, my perception manipulation can cause people to see my existence as being absolutely normal. It can also make me seem inconsequential as far as threat potential goes. With some, that will de-escalate the situation. With others, it increases the chance of conflict." He turned to me. "Taylor, I want to apologise to you. I have been using that power on you ever since I ripped the door off the locker."

I blinked. "Wait, what? How have you been using a power on me? I haven't noticed anything." And I hadn't. Zach had always been nice and friendly to me, never even suggesting the threat of harm.

Zach tilted his head. "Have you not questioned why you didn't wonder how I was so strong, or where I came from, or why I was helping you? Those questions would have caused you to be worried, or even reject my companionship and protection. Each time your mind brought up the possibility of me being dangerous, or any other concept that may have caused you to push me away, my power turned it aside." He paused. "I want you to understand that I have never lied to you. Your well-being and happiness is my ultimate concern."

Without speaking, I sat down at the far end of the sofa from Alexandria. Some news has to be processed sitting down. It wasn't easy to deal with; he'd been telling the truth to my face, while his power was making sure I'd accept what he said. Did that mean he was lying to me or not? It was hard to figure out. I decided to shelve it for the moment—I could always yell at Zach later—and deal with something else that was niggling at me.

"Quick question." I looked up at Zach. "Why _were_ you assigned to be my protector? I mean, this is about as far from the concept of 'make Eidolon look heroic' as you can get."

Instead of answering me straight away, Zach looked at Alexandria. "I suspect if Father hears the details of what I am about to say, it will affect future events in a bad way. My sister thinks so, anyway. Can you agree to not tell him?" He gave her his 'serious' look, which I had to admit was pretty damn serious.

After a moment, she nodded. "I'm not promising anything, but I'll take your, uh, sister's assessment under advisement." She leaned forward with raised eyebrows. "I'm also somewhat curious about that issue. Though I wasn't until Taylor brought it up just now." She shot him an irritated glance. "Dammit. I'd thought your power wasn't affecting me. It's very insidious."

"It is intended to be so," he agreed, his expression deadpan. "If it is detectable, then much of the utility is lost."

"I felt it when you were using it on the reporter and her cameraman," I put in. "That was just the edges of it, I guess?" I saw Alexandria and Dad both nodding; it seemed they'd felt the same thing.

"Yes," he said. "I let you feel what I was doing, so that you were not surprised by her acquiescence. Though did you wonder then or later if the power had ever been used on you, even with evidence that I had it?"

I knew I hadn't, and with Zach's confession about using it on me I wasn't really surprised. But now both Dad and Alexandria were shaking their heads. Dad's expression was one of dawning revelation. "Damn," he marvelled. "You are _good_ at that. You wouldn't be able to sit in on some of the negotiation meetings I'm gonna be holding to talk about demolishing the Boat Graveyard, would you?"

Alexandria cleared her throat. "I suspect doing something of the sort would fall under the heading of 'using a parahuman power for undue influence'," she noted, though the smile on her face took the sting out of her remark. "But we're getting off topic. Zach, you were explaining to Taylor about why Eidolon assigned you to be her protector."

Zach nodded. "Father does not have complete control over the power that governs us," he said. "He wants to be a hero, but if he had control he would never have caused it to create monsters that kill millions. It is all subconscious. My sister is good at manipulating the subconscious. She is unable to affect him directly, but she _was_ able to cause minor mishaps and events in his vicinity which then informed his thought patterns. One night, as a result of this, he manifested a precognitive power while he was asleep. He had a dream of you being locked in your locker. The emotion he felt about that ultimately triggered my creation as your protector."

A long silence ensued, as each of us thought about the ramifications of that. A distant siren wailed, but that was nothing out of the ordinary; on some days in Brockton Bay, sirens were more common than birdsong. I watched as a solitary fly buzzed in through one of the glass-less windows and made a slow circuit of the room. My brain was turning over what Zach had told me, and I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or run downstairs and lock myself in the basement until the crazy went away.

"Okay, I've got a question." Dad looked just a little wild around the eyes, but I suspected I had much the same look. Having one's entire world overturned in a few minutes had that sort of effect. "Why _not_ tell Eidolon? Surely we could do with having more like Zach around? I mean, he's done nothing but help Taylor out. And then there's the Nine."

"The problem is that once he is told what happened, Father might try to do it again." Zach's voice was flat. "Ziz says that is a very bad idea. After all, my brothers and sister came about through a _heroic_ impulse."

"So noted." Alexandria's tone was a little faint. I guessed she was thinking the same thing I was; if the Simurgh said something was a bad idea, this was probably the understatement of the year. "About that. Are you created out of nothing, or … how does it even work? After all, I doubt very much there were Endbringers like Behemoth and teenage boys all queued up in limbo, waiting to be brought into the world."

Zach smiled a little at that. "You are correct. Endbringers—or chaos generators, as I call us—do not have any particular form to begin with. Our final form has very little to do with our power level. It is all window-dressing. I could have been a fifty foot tall being composed of razor blades, or a series of interlocking shadows, and still had the same abilities that I do now. However, being in this form makes it much easier for my perception filter to work, so this is my form."

"Chaos generators?" Dad roused himself to ask the question. "Why do you call yourself that? You haven't attacked the city. In fact, all you've done is … oh."

As he trailed off, I burst out laughing at the same realisation that was only now spreading over his face. For someone whose stated goal was to help me and keep me safe, Zach had done an _amazing_ job of generating chaos. From the altercation with Armsmaster, to smacking Assault all the way to Boston … at every turn, we'd escaped from one chaotic situation only to run headlong into another. It was the final straw, making sense of everything else. I cackled, whooped and pounded the armrest of the sofa with my fist. Tears ran down my face and I laughed until my ribs hurt, then I laughed some more. It was even funnier than the time Zach had told me he was an Endbringer, and I'd thought he was joking. Because this time, the punchline was utterly hilarious: _it's all true._

Finally, I subsided, still chuckling. Wiping my eyes, I looked around at the two adults, each of whom was looking at me with degrees of exasperation. Zach was just leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smiling. "Okay, I'm good," I said, then chuckled again. "But you gotta admit, that _was_ funny. The look on your face, Dad, when you realised what you were saying."

Alexandria pursed her lips. "Well, yes," she conceded, a little reluctantly. "However, if you're done, Miss Hebert, I'd like to get to the main point of this gathering. Specifically, the issue with Sophia Hess."

If anything was guaranteed to get me serious, that was it. All sense of humour evaporated as I sat upright. "Okay. I didn't know she was a Ward, though now I think about it, Armsmaster was acting a bit hinky at the time. I'm wondering if he wasn't trying to keep it on the down-low. It _did_ strike me as a bit weird how the Protectorate and PRT turned up so fast at the school."

"I will be talking to Armsmaster," Alexandria said, and just for a moment, I felt sorry for Armsmaster. But only for a moment. "However. First, I would like your side of the story. Specifically, the details of your interactions with Sophia Hess, both in her civilian identity and as Shadow Stalker, and anything else you feel is relevant." She turned to face me, one leg up on the sofa, and gave me her full attention.

I tried not to gulp; it was like being pinned to the wall by a searchlight. "Okay, I didn't know Sophia was Shadow Stalker until Zach mentioned it. But Sophia's been on my case since I started high school. Somehow, she stole my best friend and turned her against me, and they haven't given me a day to myself since." I paused. "Um, Zach, in my bedroom, there's a stack of papers held together with a bulldog clip, on the top shelf of my—" Between one word and the next, Zach was gone. I opened my mouth to say something, and he was back again, standing next to the sofa with my journal in his hand. "—wardrobe," I finished lamely. "Thanks. Wow." I'd seen him do his _move_ trick before over short distances before, but that was something else. There'd barely even been any air displacement, and no after-images or sound of thundering feet. Did he fly? Was he _teleporting?_ I wasn't sure; nor was I certain how to ask.

"Is that a record of what's been going on?" asked Alexandria. She eyed the stack of paper. "That's … a lot of pages."

"That's because there's a lot of incidents," I said bitterly. "That's only from November last, by the way. I only started writing it down then."

" … wait." Dad turned his attention from Zach and the journal to me. "You just said 'stole your best friend'. But that's—" He broke off and moved forward. Taking the papers from Zach's hand, he scanned the front page then stopped, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the thick sheaf. "Emma?" His voice was a plea, an appeal to help him understand what was going on. "How could she …?"

"I don't know, and that's the truth," I confessed. "I just know that she's turned every secret I ever shared with her against me. And today, she helped Sophia lock me in my locker." I eyed Alexandria cynically. "They _did_ report what was in that locker, didn't they?" I wouldn't have put it past them to conveniently 'forget' that bit.

However, it seemed that I'd done them a disservice. "I know what was in the locker," she confirmed, the twist of her lips making it clear that she knew what I was talking about.

"Well, _I_ don't know what was in the locker," Dad interjected. He looked from me to Alexandria and back again. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," I said sympathetically. "But would you rather hear it from me or read it in the papers?" I knew it wasn't really fair to make him choose, but then, I hadn't had an option about going into the locker anyway.

Dad held up a hand and went into the kitchen. When he came out, he was carrying one of the dining chairs. Taking a seat, he gave me a steady look. "Okay, I'm sitting down. Hit me."

I took a deep breath. This wasn't easy for me, either. "You know the special bins they have in the girls' bathrooms? They must've emptied every single one in the school." My stomach clenched at the memory.

" _Fuck."_ Dad's voice grated like broken glass. "Here." He stood up again and thrust the stack of papers toward Alexandria. "Have a look at what _else_ your precious Ward did when your back was turned." A little of the venom was back in his voice. "I'm thinking I might just go and have a word with Alan Barnes. I might be gone a little while." Turning on his heel, he started for the door.

"Dad, no!" I raised my voice, and he stopped. "I don't think he knew about it, and even if he did, if you punch him, you'll get arrested. That'll make it harder to fix stuff, if you've got a record."

"It'll just be a fine." He started moving toward the door again. "I can afford a fine. I'm just gonna ask him a few questions. And if I don't like the answers, I'm gonna punch his teeth down his neck."

"Mr Hebert." Alexandria didn't take her eyes off the sheets as she leafed through them at an impressive speed. "Your course of action is inadvisable." The tone of her voice didn't change, but he stopped again. I _had_ to learn how she did that. "His daughter is already injured. That'll get him sympathy in court. On the other side of the coin, attacking him will muddy the case against her, when it goes through. Do you _want_ to see your daughter's attackers go free?"

Dad stopped with his hand on the doorknob. I saw his shoulders hunch and his knuckles whiten as he gripped the smooth metal. He wanted to go out and deliver a warning, if not an actual beatdown, to work off his own agitation; that much was obvious. But Alexandria's warning made a lot of sense. The last thing we wanted was to have Emma walk free because Dad's temper got the better of him.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and let the doorknob go. It didn't bear indentations in the shape of his fingers, but I figured it'd been a near thing. "Fine," he said with bad grace. "You win. I won't go beat the snot out of him. But once this is done, him and me are gonna be sitting down and having a very intense conversation about keeping an eye on what his _fucking daughter_ is up to."

"That's fair." Alexandria stood up from the sofa, leaving the sheaf of papers on the cushions. "I've got everything I need from that." She turned to me. "What were the highlighted emails about? There were a few of those."

I was mildly stunned that she'd not only read through the lot, but she'd had the time to take note of the highlighted emails. _Superpowers are bullshit._ Of course, I had Zach as the uber-example of that. He had powers that _capes_ thought were bullshit. "Um, those are the ones that were sent during school hours."

"Ah." Her eyes cleared, then focused in the middle distance. "Yes, I see. That's very useful. I don't believe it will be very hard to track down the originals of those emails, where they were sent from, and who was logged in at the time." She smiled at me. "This is all very useful. You did a good job there."

I flushed slightly; even seeing her warts and all, getting praise from Alexandria was definitely a high point in my day. "Um, thanks. I guess I wasn't expecting to have to go as high as you before someone actually paid attention to me."

"May I say something that you might not wish to hear, Taylor?" Zach's voice was diffident. "It is a matter of perspective."

I looked at him curiously. "Okay, go ahead." While I wasn't sure I wanted to hear something unpleasant, Zach obviously thought I needed to know whatever it was. Taking a breath, I braced myself for the bad news.

"I merely wished to remind you of the fact that while Chief Director Costa-Brown is currently committed to this course of action, it is only because I am so powerful that she cannot guarantee victory over me." Zach spoke blandly, though his words were anything other than forgettable. "If I were not here and you attempted to make your case to the PRT, she may well have authorised a cover-up and roadblocks put in your way to ensure nothing more was said about the matter. You saw how Armsmaster and the rest of the Protectorate reacted to your words about Shadow Stalker. In short, while she will be acting in your best interests, it is solely because she has no other choice in the matter."

I'd heard the phrase 'the ugly truth' before, but I'd rarely come across so fitting an example. Nor did I think to question his analysis of the matter; it rang so very true, even without the look on Alexandria's face to go by. I gave her a hard stare, and she had the grace to drop her gaze. Or was she merely acting out shame? I had no doubt she'd done far worse in her career.

"It's true, isn't it." I didn't even bother to phrase it as a question. The temptation to shout at her or call her names was strong, but I restrained myself. I would be the better person.

Slowly, she nodded. "You would've figured it out sooner or later anyway, even without Zachary to point it out. But the fact of the matter is, we all bend the knee to whomever comes along that's stronger than us. You think the criminal element plays nice when there's a superhero walking down the street because they _like_ him? It's the threat of force. You can't keep order without _giving_ orders, and it's an age-old truism that orders not backed by force are merely suggestions. Yes, we should've been aware of your situation a lot earlier, and we should've been ready to remedy it as soon as we found out. That's on us."

She took a deep breath and looked around at each of us. "However, as in any organisation, there are many factors to be taken into account, and they _absolutely have_ to be prioritised in order to keep things running smoothly. Almost invariably, the priorities are aimed more at increasing efficiency and less at the welfare of individual people. Sometimes, this means that people like you fall through the cracks. I wish it were otherwise. I wish I were smart enough to run things so well that _everyone_ benefits. But I'm not."

Dad grimaced. "I wish I was able to call bullshit on that. But I've been involved with organisational planning before, and I know where you're coming from." He paused to give her a stern glare. "However, this doesn't mean you're off the hook for everything that happened to Taylor because of the PRT and Protectorate fucking up. In fact …" He paused, eyes going distant. "I'm thinking we might be in line for compensation. Call it a fuckup tax. The PRT and Protectorate need to learn not to pull this shit any more, and having to actually make an effort to put things right makes for a great object lesson."

"Okay …" She eyed him warily. "You do realise, you're already going to be getting ninety-nine point four million dollars for the Nine. Asking for more money at this point sounds a little grabby to me. Just saying."

He snorted with dark humour. "Who said I was gonna be asking for money? I want to clear the Boat Graveyard. I'm thinking that sometime in the near future, I'm gonna want to be able to make a phone call, and if the Triumvirate happened to be free, I'm pretty sure they could clear the lot in a lazy afternoon."

I wanted to laugh out loud. It was _perfect._ Between Alexandria, Legend and Eidolon, they could make short work of even that vast tonnage of half-sunken hulks. "And I've got an even better idea," I said. "Zach could help too. He wouldn't do _all_ the work—after all, the Triumvirate have got to show how heroic they can be—but I'm pretty sure he could do his bit."

"I most certainly could do my bit, Taylor." Zach beamed at me. "Would you like me to invite any of my brothers or sister to help as well? I am sure they could speed things up a lot." His gaze was so guileless that I couldn't quite tell if he was trolling Alexandria or not.

"Uh, let's not," she said hastily. "We don't want to cause a mass panic, after all. I'm sure that between the four of us, we could do the job." Turning back to Dad, she added, "Did you want me to contact Legend and get it done this afternoon?" There was an almost hopeful tone to her voice; _maybe I can get this over and done with today._

"Not at the moment," he said with a shake of the head. "I'm going to need to start the ball rolling with Roy Christner and get the Merchants dealt with first. Once crime in the area is down to a minimum and the local infrastructure's been brought back up to speed, then I'll give you that call." He gave her a thin smile, which wasn't reflected in his eyes. "But you won't be waiting too long. I don't intend to drag my feet on this."

"So I see," she murmured, then dusted her hands off almost theatrically. "Well, if you call my official contact number, I'll see to it that you're put straight through, night or day. Is there anything else we needed to talk about before I go?"

"One minor detail," Zach said. "If you wanted one more point to make the case against Shadow Stalker stick, she has been in the habit of taking regular arrows out on patrol instead of the probation-mandated tranquilliser arrows. I am sure that someone of your capabilities would be able to locate such arrows wherever she has them hidden."

Alexandria's eyelids drooped slightly and her smile became razor-edged. "Oh, I will take the greatest pleasure in locating her stash." She nodded to Zach. "I believe working alongside you will be fascinating and irritating in equal measure, and I wouldn't miss it for the world." Turning to me, she stepped forward and reached out her hand. "And I know this is more than a little belated, but I want to apologise again for what has been done to you."

I shrugged, then reached up and shook her hand. Her grip was firm, but I'd never have judged it capable of crushing steel if I hadn't known who she really was. "I appreciate it. Even if you are kinda working under duress. As far as I'm concerned, the results are all I'm interested in."

"That's fair." She gave me a measured nod, then turned and shook hands with Dad. "I look forward to working with you again, Mr Hebert. It's nice to talk to someone who has some small idea of what I have to deal with."

"If you speak with Accord in Boston, he will be able to formulate plans to streamline the efficiency of all three organisations of which you are a part," Zach put in unexpectedly. "Of course, this requires that you give him access to deep organisational details, which some may object to." He shrugged. "It is your choice."

Alexandria blinked. "And that one was well out of left field. I'll consider it. No promises." She shook Zach's hand. "It was … extremely interesting to meet you. Don't forget to ask Taylor that question." Moving to the door, she opened it; a moment later, she was gone.

"Wait, what question?" I asked, looking at Zach.

He smiled. "She asked me to ask you if my brothers and sister should stop attacking cities. I already know you do not like people dying, but I allowed her to think she had accomplished something by asking me. I have already asked them to not hurt anyone else, and they have said they will try. Is that what you would have wanted?"

I nodded fervently. "Yeah. Definitely. Thanks for that, Zach. It's a huge weight off my mind."

"Well, this has definitely been an unusual day, even for Brockton Bay," Dad noted. "Start it with a super-powered stand-off at your high school, and end it by saving the world from the Endbringers. And we're not even half done yet."

"True." I grinned. "Of course, tomorrow we're just gonna have to top what we've done today."

Dad shook his head in resignation. "Just make sure Brockton Bay's standing at the end of it, all right?"

I giggled. "I'll do my best."

* * *

End of Part Eight


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